


Between

by AthingcalledR



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Blood, Character Tags In Order Of Appearance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Growth, Guilt, Headcanon, Multi, Nightmares, Passion, Paulkins - Freeform, Redemption, Regret, Slow Burn, i talk about eyes too much, making amends, mentions of vomit, not significance, post apotheosis, probably some PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 63,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25428847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthingcalledR/pseuds/AthingcalledR
Summary: Ever thought about if TGWDLM and Black Friday were in the same timeline, and what would've happened between the two if that were the case? Because I know I have! I've tried to make this as canon-compliant and in character as possible, but I've also included some headcanons and (accidental) inconsistencies, so it's more like a parallel universe canon-compliant fanfic, if that makes senseStarts at the end, ends at the beginning and written from multiple perspectives but mostly focuses on good ol' paulkins. Mentions of violence but probably nothing too graphic (except for a dream-sequence in chapter 10 that's pretty unpleasant I think, but I'll make it easy to skip)
Relationships: Alice & Bill (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Alice & Paul Matthews, Alice/Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Bill & Deb (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Bill & Paul Matthews, Charlotte & Paul Matthews, Charlotte/Ted (The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals), Gary Goldstein/Linda Monroe mentioned, Hannah Foster & Ethan Green, Hannah Foster & Lex Foster, Henry Hidgens & Emma Perkins, Henry Hidgens & Ted, Lex Foster/Ethan Green, Linda Monroe/Ted mentioned, Paul Matthews & Emma Perkins, Paul Matthews & Ted, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins, Tom Houston & Emma Perkins
Comments: 62
Kudos: 56





	1. Inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! It hasn't been two weeks, the deed to the land in Colorado was a lie, and everyone around you is an alien. You're surrounded, you're injured, and Paul's gonna kill you in front of a live audience.  
> "SHOW STOPPING NUMBER...!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is my first attempt at writing fanfic, I only started reading it a couple of weeks ago, so I hope this is alright. So far I've written about 3 chapters and there will probably be more, but I'm definitely not accustomed to the whole posting process so I apologise for any mistakes.  
> I had fun writing this so I hope you guys enjoy!  
> (starts the exact moment the Show Stopping Number kick-line section of inevitable begins)

The walls fell down around them, revealing the truth. This wasn’t a hospital, this wasn’t _Clivesdale_.

The Starlight Theatre. She should’ve known they’d never make it out of Hatchetfield.

All she could do was scream. Scream at the hundreds of expectant faces smiling back at her, scream at the lights, the noise, the searing pain in her leg, at Paul. Arms outstretched, legs kicking to the rhythm. Singing. _What had they done to him?_ She hoped to God he wasn’t still in there. _“Your own body is your front row seat”_. All she could do at the time was stare at Charlotte’s mangled body, and the grotesque shade of blue dripping from her torso. Those words hadn’t terrified her then. They did now.

They circled her like vultures, pure masochistic euphoria gleaming in their eyes. It was almost too much. Professor Hidgens grabbed her shoulders, steering her across the stage. It was all she could do not to trip with her leg practically numb to everything besides agony. Ted, Bill, Nora, the nurse, a businessman, she was surrounded by faces.

“Inevitable…”. They stood in a line, forcing her to put her back to the audience. She was going to be one of them. How? Were they going to tear out her insides like they did Charlotte, would she watch as her own intestines turned blue? Would they shoot her, like how Paul said they got Bill? Or would they really make Paul puke in her mouth? She knew she didn’t have long to wait to find out.

“Inevitable,”. They marched towards her, and she limped backwards as far as she could without falling. There would be no escape. 

“Inevitable!” As they leaned forward, Emma’s leg finally gave way underneath her and she tumbled to the floor. She stared up at Paul, towering over her. If she hadn’t been petrified by the sight, she might have felt sorry for him, but those eyes – _glowing eyes_ – convinced her there was nothing left of him. It was the shell of a man she could have known, and it was going to kill her.

Emma twisted her body away from them.

**“THE APOTHEOSIS IS UPON US!”**

As the final note reduced to an echo, Emma wrapped her now out-stretched hand around her head and cringed into the stage floor, her last-ditch effort to deny what was about to happen. However, the pain she anticipated didn’t come. The looming figures above her seemed to move away, leaving her alone at the edge of the stage. She couldn’t stop herself from looking. They were… bowing? Only then did she hear the cacophonous applause. At least they were distracted.

Confused, desperate, Emma scrambled to her feet. Could someone in the audience help her? She limped towards them, asking anyone near her if they would help. Could they even hear her? They just sat there, smiling, _clapping._ She was about to die and no one cared.

“WHY ARE YOU CLAPPING?!” It was useless, completely useless. They just sat there, she doubted if they could even hear her over the noise. But what else could she possibly do? They weren’t going to stay distracted for much longer, and she wouldn’t exactly get very far if she tried to get out on foot. She made her way to the other side of the stage. Surely _someone_ would wake up.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw them. Her time was up. She screamed, she pleaded, all to no avail. She felt an arm lock with hers, a hand circled her other wrist. They dragged her, too weak to thrash or fight it, off stage, and the applause faded into the distance. No one was going to help her.

She blinked through the tears in time to see the room they had dragged her into, and the table they seemed to be headed for. Paul walked around it ahead of them and turned back to face her, a smirk blooming in his eyes. She knew what was coming; It was inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was okay :)  
> Trust me, I'm gonna somehow make this a happy fanfic. Hopefully. Might take a few chapters though, as the next 2 definitely aren't!  
> Also poor Emma


	2. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the hive just likes to people watch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I only uploaded the first chapter like a few hours ago, and it's currently 00:32 in my country, but I couldn't help myself, so have another chapter! Also I figured the first didn't really give many hints as to the direction I was gonna take this thang.  
> Mentions of violence, kinda angsty, yada yada

She hadn’t stopped fighting. What else was there to do? It was only a vague inclination of struggle, however, as her mind had clouded over, making anything else utterly impossible. It was as if an impenetrable pall had been lowered over her. It blinded and deafened, and clung to her skin, paralysing her in an insufferable, inescapable coma-like state. She could feel it inside her mind. She knew she’d been taken over. All that was left of her in that dark cage was her thoughts. No glimmering ray of the world around her shone through; she was trapped in nothingness, unending nothingness. Whatever her body was up to, she doubted she'd ever find out.

Until. A change. A decision? Whatever had happened, it caused a shift. Not much of one, just enough to make the blackness become a little more like greyness. The hive? What was it doing? 

_Oh._

A sliver of knowledge crept though, almost like an instinct. It had everyone. An emotion that wasn’t hers followed it. Contentment, maybe? Satisfaction? Something else too… anticipation?

Emma’s eyes burst open. The evidence of her fight became clear as in that same instant her whole body seemed to jolt as if she’d been electrocuted. The light above her was painfully bright, and she grimaced, turning her head away from it. Emma gave an experimental flex of her hand. It… certainly _felt_ like her decision. Had…had they just been given back their autonomy?

Emma’s eyesight hadn’t adjusted yet, so she tried to move into a sitting position. Only she couldn’t - something was stopping her. The moment her eyes met her duct-taped wrists, everything came flooding back to her; her last few minutes as a human. Her stomach twisted at the memory and she gagged. It didn’t help that she had just managed to distinguish the smell of the blood that drenched her shirt.

She let her head sink back down to the table and closed her eyes. Her breathing was dangerously close to hyperventilation, so she tried as best as she could to calm herself. It was easier than she thought, but that was only because she felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She was surprised at how little pain she was in, too. Emma guessed the blue shit, or the hive or whatever, must have healed everything, otherwise she probably would have bled out by now, but that didn’t stop her from remembering how it had felt when Paul had-

Paul. _Shit_. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit, Paul!

Emma forced her eyes open again and scanned the room, fighting to keep her eyelids apart against the burning light. There were stacks of cheap, worn folding chairs lined up against a far wall – some kind of rehearsal space? Looking to the ground she saw them. The businessman. The nurse. Nora. Bill, Ted, the Professor. _Paul_. He was just… lying there. All of them were just lying there, on the ground. _Dead?_ No, not dead, she could just about hear the nurse, only a couple of feet away, breathing softly, and could make out the steady rise and fall of her chest. How long had they been like this?

Emma took the opportunity to complete a brief check of her wounds. The leg was definitely healed, as were the injuries to her arms, legs, neck and torso. Her head was pounding, her ears wouldn’t stop ringing and her wrists and ankles were sore from being tied, but other than that she was mostly okay, physically at least.

It was over. It _had_ to be.

A faint groan in the distance brought her back to the present.

“Emma?” 

Was she relieved or scared? She couldn’t tell anymore. He hadn’t actually seen her, he couldn’t have. Emma knew he was only half awake from how he’d slurred her name. She kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling by the door to her right. Around the room the others were starting to stir as well, groaning and shifting, a couple of them trying to sit up. She didn’t have long; her eyes were already starting to prick. She almost didn’t want them to wake up, just so that she could avoid anyone seeing her like this. She heard a few more movements. Tears trickled silently down her temples.

“Emma!” 

_Shit_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course I made Emma's apotheosis literal torture. Is that because I have a fascination for cruelty or because I thought the hive would want to make the turning of last citizen in Hatchetfield a special occasion? Eh, who can tell. I didn't want to make it too graphic though, so I just thought I'd hint at it instead.  
> Also, get ready for the first perspective change! I wOnDEr wHO it cOuLD bE...


	3. Awake pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well Paul, this doesn't look good, does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't immediately follow the second, it starts maybe 30 seconds to a minute before the last chapter ended. Oh, and again there's blood but no actual violence.  
> Bit of a longer one, but I don't know how long chapters usually are so this might actually be normal. Or still short. This is the last whole chapter I have in my little word document, so the rest will be released more gradually as I still have to write them. I should've spaced out these first ones but I figured as this is my first fic, I might as well keep up the practice with the html format before I forget stuff.

Paul opened his eyes, dazed by the sensation. It was overwhelming, the sudden freedom, the return of his senses. The haze still clung to his mind, and everything felt further away than it should, but it was still a vast improvement. He understood, as did all of them, what the hive had decided. He realised that was how he ended up where he was, even if he had no memory of it. But as he tried to take in his surroundings… he never expected _this_.

Paul’s eyes widened with shock as he registered the sight before him. Bodies, blood, and a room he didn’t remember entering. He racked his brains, trying to remember anything he possibly could. He remembered the explosion, the blinding light and the dark that followed it, almost suffocating him. He remembered those _things_ surrounding him, their icy fingers clutching at his shirt, the song they’d sang, how he felt his body losing control. He'd thought he was going crazy.

He tried to think further back, before the theatre, before seeing what Bill and Ted and all the rest had become. He remembered the helicopter, the gun, the crash. _Emma_. Her leg had been impaled, she couldn’t walk. He had had to leave her there. He remembered her crying out in pain as she tried to move, the faintness creeping into her voice. He abandoned her. How much longer would she have had left? Would they have got to her, would she have seen them coming? Or would she already have been unconscious? He remembered the blood she coughed up. He had left her there to die.

Where was she now?

“Emma?” Talking didn’t feel right after who knows how long. She couldn’t possibly be nearby, he knew that, but it was still worth a try. He rolled onto his side and peeled his head off the floor. His hands were coated in something, so he kept them well away from his face as he pushed himself up to lean on his right elbow. Paul peered into the darkness at the few figures he could make out. He couldn’t see well enough yet to tell who they were. There was something moving in the middle of the room, on a raised platform under a light. He strained to make out what it was, but his eyes refused to focus. It was a person, definitely, he could hear their panicked breathing. Blinking, he could just about recognise a pair of beat up old plimsoles, black shorts and a torn-up shirt, white and red. 

_Oh God, no._

"Emma!"

He didn’t hesitate. Paul stumbled across the room, almost crawling. His body felt drained and clumsy, like he would have to learn how to walk again. He tripped forward as he approached and gripped the table for support, using it as a crutch as he made his way up towards Emma’s head. It was definitely her, shivering, small, so small, lying on the table. It didn't make sense, surely the odds of her being so nearby after everything that happened were astronomical? She closed her eyes as he placed a hand on the side of her head, currently angled away from him. He didn’t know what to do. Paul stood frozen for a moment, brushing away a few strands of hair that clung to the still-drying blood on her forehead. Should he speak? If so, what on earth should he say? Any comforting words that came to mind he knew couldn’t possibly help in a situation like this one. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from her face.

The table (and Emma, for that matter) was smeared in a thick glaze of blood, pooled in deep scarlet ribbons by her sides. He couldn’t see any trace of an injury though – even her leg, which to his recollection should have a large pipe sticking out of it, seemed completely healed. So why was she so still? His eyes flashed to her arms, raised above her head, and immediately understood. Someone had duct-taped each of her limbs to the corners of the table.

“What _happened_?” he asked, horrified, not expecting an answer, not really wanting one. He saw her jaw clench out of the corner of his eye, heard her breath catch in her throat. He had to do something.

He reached for her wrist and fumbled with the ties. It was no use, no amount of struggling would ever loosen them, not without something to cut through them. In that moment, Paul sensed a figure walking up behind him, an out-stretched hand coming into view, wordlessly handing him a swiss-army knife. Paul half-turned his head to see Professor Hidgens standing ghost-like behind him. It was then that he remembered all the other people in the room. Most of them were sitting, looking empty and worn. Mr. Davidson was using a stack of chairs to pull himself to his feet, and a nurse was helping Emma’s boss off the floor. Ted sat in the far corner, hunched over with his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. Bill was standing just behind the professor. He looked like shit, but that was still infinitely better than the last time Paul had seen him – it was soothing, in a way. Paul looked back to the professor, who had placed his free hand on his shoulder. The pain in his eyes struck him for a moment. He could only imagine what his own looked like.

He took the knife and turned back to Emma, who’s eyes were still sealed shut. One by one he cut through her ties, feeling the stares of the others on his back. They were all standing now, too dazed or too horrified to move. Shock seemed to radiate off of them.

After the last limb was freed, Paul stood back a little automatically. She hadn’t made an effort to move until this point, but now that he stood apart, he watched her slowly draw in her arms from above her head, and roll a little to the side. She curled up her knees and shifted her feet off of the table, pushing herself up to sit facing away from him. Her movements were careful and silent, and a little clumsy. She moved a hand up to her face to wipe her cheek.

Rather than desperately searching for words, Paul forced his feet to take him around the table. He sat down beside her and hovered his hand tentatively above her shoulder for a moment before placing it there gently. Both of their reactions were instinctual. 

Emma lurched forward and onto the ground with a sharp intake of breath and twisted herself back to face him, as Paul practically jumped back up to his feet, stretching out his arms towards her. He watched as her eyes transitioned from alarmed to plain terrified as she stared up at him towering over her. He understood. He knew what this looked like to her, what this must remind her of, what must have happened. What he had tried his best not to consider up until this point.

He sank down to his knees and lowered his arms. Everything he wanted to say to her in that moment felt wrong. ‘Everything’s alright’ would be a straight-up lie. ‘I’m not gonna hurt you’ would definitely sound like one. Asking her to confirm his suspicions over what happened would just be pointless and painful for both of them. There was only one thing left he could think of.

His voice came out hoarse, and was barely more than a whisper.

"I'm so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally wasn't gonna end it there, I was gonna go on for another "minute" or so, but I wanted to switch back to Emma for the next bit so we could get her inner monologue rather than Paul trying to interpret her expressions.  
> Also, I'm sorry if it's a bit slow, I know not a lot has happened in the space of 3 chapters, but I'm gonna be picking up the pace a bit as well as including some more Hatchetfield citizens.


	4. He's still the man you trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnd back to you, Emma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks. This one is still relatively uneventful, so sorry if that's an issue.

Pity. What else could someone feel when looking at that broken man? Emma had watched the realisation wash over his face as he took in his own stance, saw the regret simmer in his eyes. He’d figured out what had happened, and she almost wished she could have spared him the knowledge (and the pain that would follow) in spite of her own fear. After all, this couldn't be the creature she had tried to run from before. Those sickening, cheery, glowing eyes were nothing like the ones she could see now, full of dread and apology. That thing’s body was confident and had danced around her with vigour, it would never have sunk to the floor like that, like it was approaching a wounded bird. Its voice had been strong and dripping with cynical liveliness, it wasn’t soft, it wasn’t hurt, and it definitely wasn’t in pain.

Those words tore through her chest.

This was Paul. This was the cute customer at Beanies, the one who left big tips and made jokes and was just about the most – heck, probably the _only_ normal person she knew. He was familiar, he made her laugh, he made her begin to think that maybe she could be normal too, and that maybe life wasn’t just something you endured, but that maybe “somethings are worth it”.

So why was she still afraid of him?

He was there, he was in front of her, he was as in control of himself as she was herself, and he was obviously in pain, but nothing Emma thought of would thaw that frozen pit of fear in her stomach. She had to say something, let him know she understood, that she didn’t blame him, but words failed her. She couldn’t bring herself to move closer (she could barely even keep herself from backing away). He was just as frozen as she was, watching her with that same agonized expression. The room had grown uncomfortably still. 

Alright, she’d had long enough. _Just say something, anything, for God’s sake._

Emma looked away and off to the side, thinking it would make it easier, but then she saw him. 

Professor Hidgens. _Oh God, no._

He had no excuse. He betrayed them, he could have killed them for all he knew. She would have died tied up to an idiot, listening to his shitty show-stopping-working-boy bullshit. Who gives a fuck if they lived? He had no fucking clue how it would turn out!

He must’ve seen the anger bubbling inside of her, as he raised his palms up and broke the silence with what he probably thought was a reassuring “Just try to relax, Emma.”.

_Oh, the audacity of this bitch_. Never had it been harder to supress a ‘fuck you’ (then again, when had she ever tried?). Then Emma remembered Paul, still sitting there, still just 3 feet away. He looked more concerned than in pain now, having watched the shift in emotion as she’d looked over his shoulder. She took a deep breath for his sake. _That bastard can wait._

Here goes nothing.

“Paul, I think I need to leave,” Emma said, as evenly as she could. She stopped for a moment to make sure she was okay to continue, and that she wasn’t about to cry. Again. Paul didn’t say anything, but the creases on his forehead smoothed in sympathy. She continued, “I think I need to be alone, I’m sorry.” Apparently that was the best she could manage. There was so much more she wanted to say, but at that moment she desperately needed to get out. The rest would have to wait.

“Yeah sure, of course, good call,” he stammered, giving her an awkward double-thumbs-up, which he immediately regretted. “That’s fine, you… you do whatever you need to.” He dropped his eyes to the floor. _Ah fuck, I’m gonna cry again_. Emma mouthed the word “Thanks” when he looked back up, before pushing herself to her feet and gingerly making her way to the door. She would wait a while, at least until it was closed behind her, before she started running.

The temptation had almost overwhelmed her up to this point, and giving into it was like finding ice-cold water in a desert. Her legs shook too much for her to not trip up. The theatre was in tatters, littered with a minefield of obstacles; she bumped into chairs and doorframes and tripped over wires, but she was moving and that’s all that mattered. Bursting through the main entrance, the cool, October evening slapped her in the face. Fresh air flooded her lungs and sent chills along the streaks of tears and blood that painted her skin. It was shocking, addictive. She drank it in greedily, as if it was both the first and the last time. The street around her was desolate, lined with crashed or simply abandoned cars. A slight fog had rolled in (because of _course_ it had), coating the pavement in a haze of dreary mist. There was no one in sight. For once, Hatchetfield looked bleak and desperate for a reason that wasn’t just because it was Hatchetfield.

She was gonna go home. She was gonna run back to her shitty apartment and slam the door and throw away her ruined clothes and clean herself up and she was gonna cry until her eyes were as red as the rest of her. And preferably get black-out drunk in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to insult the majestic Show Stopping Number like that, but I figured Emma wasn't a fan.   
> Okay, get ready for some more characters, in the next chapter I swear I'm finally gonna have a location change. I think I'm gonna try and make the chapters longer and less wordy, and I'm gonna dial back the inner monologue stuff a bit as people start working through the post-apotheosis confusion. Also queue another perspective change :)


	5. Oh hi, Bill!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course Bill gets the first longer chapter, it's what he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I released this chapter in three instalments and I probably wont do that again, I think I'm probably gonna wait until the whole chapter is finished in future.  
> Also, new characters!

Bill had only been half paying attention to the other people in the room since he woke up, but seeing Paul distressed was enough to bring him back to the present. It was that barista, the nice one who worked at Beanies. He didn’t know much about her, just that Paul liked her and that she offered to help find Alice. Alice. His baby girl, who hadn’t left his thoughts since that awful phone call. He had to find her.

Paul’s eyes met his for a second. The man looked half-deranged, even worse than the last time he’d seen it back in Hatchetfield High. He took something from the scientist-man and turned his back. Bill turned too, looking at the rest of the room. Ted was sat behind him in the corner, staring up at him with a weak smile. Bill held out his hand; he remembered how they’d fought, and that Ted had said some horrible things, but everything was too dang weird to make holding a grudge a sensible thing to do. He gripped Ted’s hand as it entered his own and pulled him to his feet. To his surprise, Ted pulled him in for a hug. It was strange, but Bill hadn’t realised how much he needed one too.

Behind him, there was a shuffle. Paul was behind the table now, on his knees. He said something Bill couldn’t make out. Ted hissed slightly, and the hand he had left on Bill’s shoulder tensed slightly. Following his eyes, Bill saw that his glare was directed at the back of that scientist’s head. Of course, he was the guy who killed Charlotte (well, what looked like her). Of course Ted would be mad, even if there had been no other way. He gave him a reassuring pat on the back. The world would be a very different place from now on, it would seem.

The door opened and closed, and he saw Paul get back up and hand whatever it was back to the scientist. Their eyes met again; he looked a little better this time, just exhausted. It was a relief.

“Hey, asshole!” Ted yelled.

That was short-lived.

He’d started walking towards the scientist, who stood in a sort of daze a few feet away, so Bill quickly put his arm out in front of Ted to stop him going any further.

“Ted, he didn’t have a choice, remember? Charlotte was dangerous, he saved our lives, please try to remember that,” Bill soothed. 

“Oh really? Oh, is that so?” Ted shook Bill’s hands off his shoulders. “Oh sure, let’s all thank the good doctor, shall we? Let’s bow down to the wonderful professor Hidgens and thank him for his charity! Tell me, wise-ass,” Ted said, stepping towards the professor. Paul had positioned himself in front of him, so Ted aimed his rant over his shoulder. “Tell me, what sort of teacher drugs you, ties you up and leaves you for dead?”

That definitely wasn’t what Bill had anticipated.

“He what?” Paul asked, recoiling slightly. “I heard singing, I thought- “

“No no no, this psychotic fucker-“ Ted jabbed a finger in his direction, “- he’s your man. Einstein here was still very much a human, just an absolute fucking maniac.”

The professor looked more and more guilty buy the second. He made no attempts to defend himself, he just stood with his head down and listened.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, slow down,” Bill said. Everything was too confusing, evidently he’d missed more than he thought. “Tell us what happened.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what happened, alright. This craphole comes up to me, says they had a breakthrough in the lab and he wants to drink to celebrate. So he hands me one, I drink it, and the next thing I know I’m tied up next to that Ellie-chick and he’s opening the gates! Spouting some bullshit about evolution, or whatever. Then, he started _singing_ , saying it’ll attract those things so they can find us and “unite” us. Granted, it was a good song, you’re a talented performer and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it, but that doesn’t change what you did.” Ted took a step back, and the room lapsed back into silence.

The professor was the first to break it. “Young man, I’m… I’m sure that- “

Ted didn’t let him finish; “Why didn’t you just let them get us the first time, huh?”

“Because I hadn’t yet learnt enough abou- “

“So Charlotte died for nothing, huh? She could’ve been like us, she could’ve woken up too, but now…” He trailed off. Bill was almost surprised by the hurt in his voice, he’d never heard Ted speak like that.

“Actually, young man, she could still be alive.” The professor’s mood shifted slightly as this realisation took hold, his posture becoming more confident. Everyone just stared at him, not wanting to trust him after Ted’s story. He pressed on, oblivious to the room’s atmosphere. “Think about it: when I was turned, I witnessed my own violent demise, I presume I am not the only one here who experienced such a fate. Look at yourselves, where are those injuries now? As for your Charlotte, she was able to dance and sing with her intestines hanging out. I daresay if she was given more time she would have made a full recovery, not that she needed it. No, it’s quite possible that my actions may only have decommissioned her for a short while. She could very well be back in my lab, regaining consciousness as we speak!”

“I’m sorry, I am completely lost,” chimed in Mr. Davidson. Bill had almost forgotten the other people in the room, who up until this point had been watching everything unfold in a confused silence. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find my wife. Ted, Paul, Bill, with any luck I’ll see you in the office on Monday. I’m not sure what’s going on here, but, uh…” He looked around at everyone and nodded slightly. “…yeah.” And with that, he left. Nora and the nurse followed him, both looking equally bewildered.

Bill wanted to leave too, more than anything, but he couldn’t leave Paul to deal with the other two by himself. Ted seemed to have calmed down slightly, but the professor had started pacing, mumbling something completely unintelligible. He stopped suddenly in his tracks and span back around to face them.

“I must return to my lab in order to secure it and continue my research. Ted, I hope you will forgive me for my actions. I was so fascinated by the science of it all, I… I sincerely apologise for the pain they have caused. Would you be so kind as to return with me? I may be able to provide assistance in tracking down your friend, if they are not still where we left them.”

Ted considered this for a moment. “Fuck it, why the hell not? I’m already infected anyway, I don’t think you can do that shit twice.”

“Excellent! You two,” the professor said, turning to face Bill and Paul, “it’s best that you find somewhere safe, just in case.” Ted patted both men on the shoulder as he walked past them, with the professor giving each a nod. “Now Ted, if it’s not too much trouble, what exactly did you like about Working Boy-“ The door swung shut behind them.

Bill and Paul looked at each other before pulling the other in for a hug. His had been the last face Bill had seen, right after saving his life. It didn’t matter that he only lived for a few more seconds. Besides, they were back now, somehow. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” said Paul, his head rested on Bill’s shoulder.

“And you. How much longer did you last?”

“Few hours, maybe?”

Bill chuckled. “Should’ve known you’d turn into a fighter if there was a musical involved.” Paul laughed with him, stepping back.

“I had a little help. The military showed up right after you…” He trailed off. Bill took the opportunity to change the subject.

“Paul, I _need_ to find Alice, will you help me? She could be like us, I could still get her back.”

__

Paul went to say something but stopped himself. “Sure, lets go. Where should we look first?”

__

Bill took out his phone. No battery, dang. “Can I borrow your phone?”

__

“Sorry, it got… broken.”

__

Bill sighed. “She might have gone home, we’ll check there first.”

__

*****

“Alice?! Alice, baby, are you in here?!”

The sun had set by the time they made it home. They hadn’t encountered anyone between there and the theatre, presumably because everyone had locked themselves in their homes. They had jogged most of the way and were running out of energy, but as Bill had turned the corner of his street, a light on in his home had sent him running again. As he got closer, he saw that the curtains were closed, so he’d have to get inside to know if it was her.

After fumbling with his keys for what felt like an eternity, they were in. Alice ran into the hallway as Bill called out for her, a blanket draped around her shoulders. She looked exactly like she did that time Bill had had to pick her up from school and take her to the hospital when she was 7, after breaking her arm in the school yard. Her eyes welled up and her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Oh Alice, honey, I’m so glad you’re safe,” Bill cried, rushing towards her. She let the blanket fall to the floor as she held out her arms, and a soft sob escaped her when she met his embrace.

“Dad, what happened?” He felt her face burrow into his neck, and the tears that soaked into his shirt. “You said you were coming to get me, where were you!? We’ve been calling you for hours, I thought you were gone!” Her words were replaced with weeping, and Bill brought up a hand from off her back to smooth her hair. He’d found her, finally, he'd found her.

“Honey, we did come to find you, but when we did… when we did you were already gone.”

She pulled back slightly. “You were there?”

“Yes. I tried, I really did, but you were singing and-“

“Oh my God!” Alice cupped her hands over her mouth. “Did… did I _get you?_ ”

“Yes. Yes, honey, you did, but it’s okay, I’m okay-”

“Oh my God, Dad, I’m so _sorry_ ,” she wailed, hugging him again. 

“Hey, hey, Alice, look at me,” Bill said, holding her back a bit. He levelled his face with hers and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks; they were instantly replaced with fresh ones. “There is no one on this planet I would rather have infect me than my own daughter, okay? If it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else, and honestly I’m just glad I got to see you again. Baby, I’m so sorry we didn’t get there in time.” He planted a gentle kiss on the centre of her forehead before wrapping his arms around her again. “You’re okay now, sweetie. Everything’s okay, I promise.” It was worth all of it, everything that happened, to be able to share this moment with Alice. To know that she was safe, that she was home, that she was in his arms and he could be there for her now that she needed him. It was worth it.

This sudden calm Bill found brought back his weariness, as if fear had been the only thing keeping it in check. He desperately needed to sit, and maybe something to drink as well. Then he remembered Paul behind him. Bill’s car was still in the CCRP parking lot, so he wouldn’t be able to give him a lift home, and there was no way he was about to let him walk around the city at night. Besides, surely he shouldn’t be left alone after everything that just happened. Bill decided to offer him the spare room for the night before a thought occurred.

“Alice, honey, I need a drink. Maybe, after all that, if you wanted one too that would be okay? Just this once.” Does this count as bribery? Well, even if Bill didn’t like to admit it, Alice was growing up. If she’s going to drink at some point, it might as well be at home, responsibly. Plus, his suggestion yielded the results Bill had hoped for. Alice smiled up at him, the small mischievous smirk he loved shining through the stray tears on her cheeks. He wiped them away.

“Thanks dad. I’d like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” added a voice behind them. Trust Paul to pipe up during a moment. Alice giggled, and Bill smiled with her.

“By that I take it you’re okay to spend the night? Because I’m not about to let you go out in the dark, no way.”

Paul nodded. “Sure thing, Bill.”

By some miracle, things appeared to have turned out okay. Alice was safe, and that’s all that mattered, plus maybe Paul could finally help them reconnect, although things seemed to be going great on that front so far. Bill wrapped his arm around Alice’s shoulder, and they walked towards the living room. Yeah, things were good.

“Oh, and Dad? There’s something you should know…” They walked through the door.

Deb sat curled up on the couch, sipping from a mug.

Things were slightly less good.

“Alice, Paul, could you give us a minute?” There was no way he was about to have this conversation in front of anyone.

“Uh, no, anything you can say to her you can say to me too,” Alice retorted. She walked over to Deb and sat down beside her, linking their arms in solidarity.

“I think _I_ should leave,” said Paul, backing out of the room.

“Okay, fine.” This wasn’t going to be easy, but it had to be done.

“It’s fine, sir,” Deb interjected – the title dripped with irony – “No need, I think we both know what you’re going to say. You’re gonna say I’m bad for Alice and that you think she could do better. That was why she came to me – _crying_ – that day, wasn’t it? Well you know what, we don’t care. We don’t! You wanna know why? Because what both of us know, and maybe what you don’t realise, is that Alice is her own women. How dare you accuse me of influencing her, as if she’s some kind of puppet? As if she’d let herself be influenced! And for the record, I’d _never_ make her do _anything_ she didn’t want to, because believe it or not, I respect her. I _love_ her.” Deb, who stood up part-way through her rant, stopped for a moment to gauge how that had been received. Determination flickered in every inch of her face.

Bill made no effort to interrupt her. In fact, he could almost see why Alice liked Deb so much. Her speech didn’t change what he was about to say, but it made him more certain that it was the right thing.

He spoke softly, knowing he’d have to phrase this carefully. “I know I’m not perfect. I try my best, but it’s difficult when you don’t even get to see your daughter half the time. And then, when you are around-“ he looked at Alice “-it’s like you’re not even there. I don’t want us to grow apart. But Deb? You’re right.” Deb seemed taken aback. Bill sat down in the armchair beside him. “You’re right. Alice _is_ her own woman, and she might be growing up a little faster than I’d like, but that’s my problem. I can’t stop you from making your own decisions. I want you to know that I want the best for you, but I trust _you_ to know what that is. Now, I will have to draw the line somewhere, I’m still a parent, but if you really love Deb…”

“I do, Dad, I really do.”

Bill gave her a reassuring smile. "Then I'm happy for you."

Alice rushed forward to hug him. Bill still didn’t necessarily _like_ Deb, but at least he knew he could trust her. After all, Alice did.

Alice stood back up, and Bill did the same. Deb stuck out a hand, which he accepted. If it meant he’d no longer be driving away his own daughter, Bill had no problem respecting someone who despite her flaws, definitely cared a great deal for Alice. “Now, how about a drink?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying my best to keep everyone in character but I'm not really sure how to do that, so any feedback/criticism would be greatly appreciated. Also, I haven't mentioned the timeline yet but I've planned a chapter in I think 2 or 3 chapters' time that will hopefully clear it up. On top of this, I realised I forgot that two weeks were supposed to have passed between the explosion and inevitable, so I amended the summary of the first chapter to get around that plot hole.  
> Also I can't believe how many people have read this, it's honestly awesome, and thank you to those who left a "Kudos", that's very sweet of you <3  
> edit: I've been trying to use American English because it's set in the US, but I'm English so I might stop and just type as I would


	6. Sing it, sista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte's done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long as Bill's, but the longer version I intended to write ended up with people in the wrong places so I went with this instead. Hope you enjoy :)

“Oh, Sam! We’re alive!” Charlotte threw her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed his cheek passionately. The scent of his cologne, the smell of home, filled her nostrils as she nestled her face into his neck. He was only just stirring, and his head lolled to the side. She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “Sam, baby, wake up.”

He groaned slightly, eyes still shut. “Zoë?”

_Oh._

_Working late?_

Unbridled rage bubbled up inside her. Charlotte slapped the cheek she’d just kissed, waking him suddenly with the shock of it.

“Ow!” He blinked a few times. “Charlotte? What the f-“

“Oh, I’m sorry Sam, did I wake you?” Her voice was coldly innocent as she helped him sit up.

“What’s going on? I was just…”

It was physically impossible to repress a tone of accusation. “You were just what, Sam? You were just doing a double-shift, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Oh Charlotte, not this _again_ ,” he moaned, pushing himself off the ground.

“No Sam!” Charlotte staggered to her feet. “No, I’m tired of this, I’ve had enough. I love you, but… but I deserve someone who loves me back.” She turned on her heel and made for the door. With any luck the others would still be in the building somewhere and someone could accompany her home.

“Charlotte baby, wait,” Sam called out. A hand circled her wrist and pulled her back to face him. “Shnookums-“ he booped her nose like he used to when they were first dating “-we’ve been over this at counselling, remember? There’s no one else, it’s all in your head. Charlotte, baby! Apple of my eye! Don’t you twust me?”

Her blood ran cold. She’d heard all this before. That _sickness_ , that thing that changed him, it had manipulated her before. And here he was, human, doing the exact same thing. Her husband, behaving exactly the way some alien disease did. How much lower could she possibly bring herself? They were all right, the love she felt for Sam wasn’t worth the neglect. This was one addiction she’d have to quit, cold turkey.

The anger and the pain swelled up inside her, but so did something else. Something new, a desire to tell him exactly what she thought in a way that meant he’d never be able to talk her out of it. An instinct, coursing through every vessel, every fibre.

Charlotte looked him square in the eyes and started to sing.

_“…Tell me once again, we could have been anywhere, anywhere else, instead I made a bed with apathy. My heart knew the weight, 10 years’ worth of dust and neglect, we made our peace with weariness and then let it be...”_

“Baby, don’t say that,” Sam pleaded. He brought up a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she grabbed it and pushed him away.

_“…The moon will sing a song for me, I loved you like the sun; bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own. I shine only with the light you gave me… I shine only with the light you gave me…”_

Sam shook his head. “Fine, I see how it is. Don’t come crying to me when you realise that no one else will ever even look at you!” He pushed past her, but Charlotte wasn’t finished; she rushed ahead of him and stood in front of the door, blocking his exit. For once, he was going to let her finish what she had to say, whether he liked it or not.

_“…Name your courage now, we could have had anything, anything else, instead you hoarded all that’s left of me. Swallowing your doubt like swords to the pit of my belly. I want to feel the fire that you kept from me…”_

She walked towards him as she sang, never breaking eye contact, never showing any hint of regret. His expression shifted as he watched her resolve shape her. Backing away, his only choice was to listen.

_“…The moon will sing a song for me, I loved you like the sun; bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own. I shine only with the light you gave me… I shine only with the light you gave me… I could have been anyone, anyone.”_

She inhaled sharply at the satisfaction that spread through her from the fading of the final note. The man that was once her husband stood dumbfounded, mouth hanging open.

A noise in the distance broke her reverie. Something, or someone, was approaching, calling out her name in the distance. She waited patiently, lapping up every last bit of gratification she could from Sam’s astonishment.

The door burst open behind her at last. It was Ted, followed by the professor. They stopped abruptly at the sight of the couple.

“Charlotte,” Ted huffed, the surprise in his voice watered down by his lack of breath. “How… are you?”

She gave him a polite smile. “Well, thank you, Ted.” She turned back to Sam, who was quickly regaining his composure. “I want a divorce.”

“Ugh, fucking _finally_.” Ted averted his gaze away from the glare Sam shot in his direction.

He grumbled a small “ _Whatever_ ,” as he snatched up his hat off the floor and stomped his way out of the room. She watched him leave, her eyes finally settling on Ted. He flashed her a grin which she happily returned. A familiar smile was just what she needed. This moment was interrupted however, by the professor. He walked between them, breaking their eye contact, and circled Charlotte.

“Fascinating!” He tilted her head to the side and examined her temple. “Charlotte, would you mind if I took a blood sample before you left? My hypothesis was correct, which means I have a lot of work ahead of me, and that could be just the right lead to help with my research! The same goes for you too, Ted, and needless to say I’ll be using a sample of my own. Three subjects should make for adequate validity, I believe.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Oh and hey, you let me know if that show ever goes ahead, I’m looking forward to it.”

The professor beamed. “Will do, young man! I’ll be back in just a moment, I need to fetch some sterile syringes.” He swept out of the room with a dramatic flourish.

“So…” Ted sauntered towards Charlotte, making her blush slightly. “What’s a hot, _single_ , young woman like yourself doing in a place like this?”

“Oh Ted, you’re such a tease!” They moved simultaneously, crashing together in a fiery embrace. Hands clutched at clothes and hair and skin, legs intertwined beneath them, breath mixed hot between parted lips. Sam could never make her feel like this, not in a million years.

They broke away from each other, gasping, not wanting to be caught like a couple of teenagers but still desperate for more.

“I take it you’ll be needing a place to stay tonight, then?” This excited Charlotte, bringing on another blush, but it also warmed her. It was a sweet gesture, even with the obvious ulterior motive. Not like _that_ was an issue…

“Oh, bless you Ted, bless you!”

“Hey, not a problem,” he said, taking up her hand and pulling her into his chest and resting his chin on her head. “If you want we can stop by your place first, pick up whatever you need?”

Charlotte sighed. “I daresay Sam will be out looking for somewhere to get drunk, though I doubt any where’s open at a time like this.”

“Fuck Sam.”

She craned her neck, allowing their eyes to meet.

“ _Thank you_ , Ted.”

“No problem, sugar.”

*****

The morning light streamed through a gap in the curtains and shrouded the bed in a warm, orange glow. Charlotte’s head rested on Ted’s shoulder, content in watching the hairs of his moustache twitch with every exhale. His right arm had stayed wrapped around her in his sleep, with the fingers of his left hand threaded with hers on top of his chest. She’d have stayed there forever if a loud knocking at the apartment door hadn’t woken him with a grunt.

“Wah was dah…?” he mumbled, disconnecting their fingers to rub his eyes. She kissed his temple softly and pushed back the covers.

“Don’t worry Ted, I’ll get it. Be back in a minute,” she whispered, crawling out of bed and picking up one of the dressing gowns off of the floor. She tugged it over her shoulders as she walked, yawning delicately in the process. The knocking started again before she made it to the door.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” she muttered, tying the gown. Giving her hair a quick smooth, Charlotte opened the door.

She found herself face to face with a stern-looking woman, around her height, dressed in a black uniform and a beret. Charlotte pulled her gown closed a little tighter around her neck and held out her hand.

“How do you do, Miss…”

The woman took her hand and shook it firmly. “The name’s Colonel Schaeffer. I believe your name is Charlotte, is it?” She replied only with a startled nod. “Charlotte, I’m going to have to ask you to come with me - you and your friend.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a musical, I couldn't help myself. The song lyrics are from The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives, which stylistically speaking I know isn't really in-keeping, but I thought the lyrics worked well. Also, the next chapter will probably be rather hefty (as least, that's what I'm planning), and probably a little sad, but I've really been looking forward to writing it so I'm gonna take my time on it and try and get it right.


	7. We'll try and keep this de-brief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few Hatchetfield citizens try to make sense of what happened during a debriefing lead by P.E.I.P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the chonkiest chapter yet! Quite a lot of angst in this one, because I simply couldn't help myself, and there's a perspective change half-way through because I felt like it. I know at this point that the timeline I've used doesn't align with canon very well, but it's as close as I could get it and still write in certain bits I thought of a while ago and wanted to include. I have still tried to avoid plot-holes as best I can, though. This one was really fun to write, so I hope it's fun to read, too!

Emma was in Guatemala. Engulfed in the bustle of the Chichicastenango marketplace, that’s where she had been. Surrounded by colour and noise and the pulse of life, exactly the sort of space she gravitated to since she left home all those years ago. She could barely hear the voice on the other end of the phone as the crowd pushed its way around her. Her heart leapt into her throat the moment she grasped what had happened. It was if the world was muted, an invisible screen separating her from the commotion. Her arms had felt heavy, her feet refused to keep moving. She couldn’t break down, not in public. Once the other person had hung up she forced herself to press on, quietly looking up plane tickets with a face like stone.

**THUD THUD THUD.**

_Ugh._

Emma rolled onto her side. Maybe if she stayed exactly where she was, the noise would just go away on its own.

**THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD.**

“ _FUCK OFF_ ,” she thought at the noise.

She opened one of her eyes a fraction. The light sent a stabbing pain through her head. She wasn’t in Guatemala anymore. In fact, Emma was actually lying naked on her bathroom floor, shivering violently, the almost-empty bottle of vodka still within reach. Her whole body ached, and her mouth tasted like death. There was no way on Earth she was getting up.

**THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD THUD!**

_...fuck it._

She couldn’t stand yet, so Emma dragged herself through the door. Her bedroom looked a mile away, but thankfully there was a basket of laundry left by the front door that she’d never got around to folding. She fished out some underwear, leggings and a long-sleeved tee, and dressed herself without getting up. It was a slow process, especially as she had to keep shielding her ears from all the knocking.

Eventually, after a great deal of struggle, Emma found herself standing in front of the door. She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked like shit, but it didn’t matter. She opened the door.

If yet another sudden increase of light hadn’t blinded her, she’d have seen the man’s eyes widen at the sight of her, but he was able to regain composure before her vision returned. The first thing Emma noticed was the uniform. Military? Either way, she knew she’d never met him, so what could he possibly want from her?

Thankfully, he didn’t wait for her to say something before he started speaking.

“Emma Perkins?” he asked. His voice was soft, as if he knew her ears wouldn’t be able to handle much more.

She hummed in acknowledgement. He continued, “Emma, my name is Xander Lee, I’ve been sent to fetch you. I believe you came into contact with a colleague of mine by the name of General John McNamara, 2 days ago?”

She thought back. It sounded familiar, but nothing came to mind. The vodka had done its job well, she noted.

“I think so, maybe.”

“He’s holding a debriefing in a couple of hours, your presence has been requested. I’ll be waiting in the car park out front, you take all the time you need.” He turned to leave, but Emma thought of something.

“Wait a sec, where are we going?”

“The meeting’s being held in Clivesdale.”

_Perfect._

“Yeah, okay. I’ll just… go… straighten up a bit.”

The man gave her a sympathetic nod and carried on walking.

Emma rushed back to the bathroom to vomit.

*****

Admittedly, after a quick shower and a teeth-clean, Emma felt at least part-way decent. She had put her hair up in a bun to keep it from getting wet, but now she let it fall around her face, blocking out the sunlight that flashed in through the car window. It was inhumanely early for someone with a hangover – half-seven in the morning – but the car was quiet, with very little conversation passing between her and the stranger driving, save a couple of questions.

Emma did her best to ignore all the people filling the streets of Hatchetfield. A lot of the damage had somehow already been repaired, with abandoned cars reclaimed and windows smashed by looters replaced with miraculous efficiency. But seeing all those people as… well, _people_. Not monsters, or aliens, or singing freaks. It seemed off, in a way. There was nothing to be afraid of, but how could she possibly accept that? She’d have kept her eyes shut if it didn’t make her head spin.

She could have gagged driving over the bridge as the thin stretch of beach appeared in the corner of her eyes. How long had she been lying there, bleeding, before she passed out? Those things had found her. Cleaned her up, fixed her leg. _Lied_ to her. Set her up. Tortured her with _hope_. She couldn’t remember what had happened without wanting to cry, so instead her mind flicked idly to the deed for the land in Colorado. Just an extra middle-finger in the ‘ _fuck-you_ ’ sandwich, was it? What a sick joke.

Why even bother? That was the one thing she couldn’t resist fixating on. Why bother going to all that effort? The fake hospital, inventing an alias, Paul-

_Nope. No way, not yet._

It was useless, her mind went there anyway. She couldn’t deny the questions she knew she had. What had happened with the meteor? She assumed they must have got to him before he could destroy it, meaning she was the one who sent him to his death. She wondered if it hurt. 

And then after that, when they all woke up and she left him there. He was probably as confused and hurt as she was, and she just left him. Where did he go after that? Was he alone? Where was he now? She felt strange at the realisation that he’d probably be at the meeting. What the hell do you say in that situation?

She didn’t have long to think about it, because soon enough the car pulled up beside what had to be the most boring-looking building Emma had ever seen. _Figures_. She got out, careful not to slam the door for the sake of her hearing. Xander Lee had walked ahead of her and held the door open, looking inside rather than at her. She was grateful, in a way. He must have sensed the tension in her silence on the way there. She thanked him quietly as she passed.

*****

Emma looked like shit. Paul immediately regretted that this was the first thing he thought of when she walked in. It was all his fault. Besides, he doubted he looked any better. His neck was stiff and clothes ruffled from sleeping on Bill’s couch (He’d had to give up the spare room to Deb – there was only so much Bill could put up with in one day), and he knew his hair must be equally horrendous from the sarcastic compliment Ted had made when they arrived.

When he’d answered the door to a fully healed General McNamara that morning and was told of the debriefing, he never imagined so many people would turn up. Especially given how none of them seemed to have a connection.

Paul had been the first to arrive in that dingy conference room, with Bill, Alice, and Deb. It wasn’t five minutes until Ted came in with Charlotte, who had given everyone a quick hug before they sat themselves down. Next to enter was Mr. Davidson, who given the circumstance appeared to be surprisingly chipper. Paul actively avoided dwelling on that too much. After that had been professor Hidgens, with his arms cradling about 13 overflowing notebooks all precariously stacked on top of one another. 2 minutes later a large group walked in, led by that rude woman from Greenpeace. He recognised most members of the group: Melissa was there, who gave him a shy wave; the nurse from the theatre; Emma’s boss and that other barista – Zoey? – from Beanies, the former with her face fixed on her phone, the latter hanging off Sam’s arm. They were also followed by the homeless man who usually sits outside the Barnes & Noble.

Paul realised that he’d seen all of these people throughout the course of… whatever had happened, but that wasn’t unusual; he saw these people pretty much every day, even if he didn’t talk to them or even really know them. This was Hatchetfield. There were only so many new faces for someone who’d never left.

He was thinking back to the first time he saw Emma when she walked in. How could a person look so different? The lack of bloodstains was a massive improvement, but she just looked… empty. Drained. He didn’t mean to watch her as she took her seat, but he couldn’t help it. Paul noticed the way she flinched at every little noise, even the ones she made, pulling out her chair – hungover. _Ah_. She sat closest to the door, almost opposite him. He looked away. He could have sworn he felt her eyes on his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to check.

At the head of the table stood a large monitor. A sickening thought occurred.

Would they be shown what happened after he blew up the meteor? Paul had seen enough to form a pretty good guess as to what happened in that room, but he didn’t _actually_ know. It was probably a good thing for him to see it, to know what he did (although he’d probably be sick), but not _Emma_. Surely they weren’t about to make her go through it all over again.

Just then a voice piped up from the group of uniformed soldiers stood by the far wall.

“Good morning to you all. My name is General John McNamara of the United States’ Military – special unit P.E.I.P, we call it Peep. In order to explain the events following the meteor strike on the Starlight Theatre, we have gathered you here today to take a small look at our organisation’s intel – just a peep.” He looked around expectantly for a moment before picking up a small remote. “That was a joke.”

Paul wondered how many more of those lines he had prepared.

At the press of a button the monitor came to life. The screen was filled with text, none of which Paul could make out.

“This is a comprehensive timeline of our efforts beginning on the night of October 11th with the meteor strike, all the way up to 8:04 p.m. on October 13th, when, for whatever reason, the human race was collectively returned to its previous state of individuality. In other words, the hive mind released us in favour of a spectator-like state. We are all of us still infected, but so far we maintain control over our actions. We believe this change occurred once the hive had infected every last person on earth, which took little more than 48 hours after the meteor hit.

“It is our understanding that when the hive infects a human, it gains unrestricted access to that person’s thoughts, feelings and memories. Whilst we haven’t yet identified our Patient Zero, it is safe to assume that they were working with, or had arrived to watch the touring production of Mama Mia, who were in the process of setting up for a performance. When this happened, it appears that whilst the people of the theatre were subjected to the hive, the hive was also subjected to theatre, a concept it may never have encountered before. From that moment, it appeared to develop a fascination for musicals, and decided that it would create its own out using the human race.”

It was even worse than Paul had imagined.

“By reviewing CCTV footage across the town capturing its spread, we at Peep have managed to piece together what we believe to be a complete linear plot line, the hive’s first attempted at constructing a narrative, positioning itself as the primary antagonist.” He let this hang in the air for a moment. 

Zoey shrugged her shoulders. “Makes sense, villains tend to get the best songs.”

“ _All_ the songs were villain songs,” Ted pointed out.

“So who do you think was the _pro_ tagonist?” Bill asked the General.

“I’m glad you asked. You see, as the hive learnt more about the town from the information it collected in the minds of infected citizens, it discovered its opposite. A normal human who hated musicals as much _it_ loved them.” _This isn’t happening_. “An everyday citizen with no obvious motivation or goals,” _Oh no_ , “that the hive set out to transform into a fully-developed character by making them face the very thing they despised.” The General gestured to Paul, who kept his gaze fixed firmly on the ring-stained table. “I am, of course, speaking of Mr. Paul Matthews.” Fifteen pairs of eyes turned to scrutinise his face.

“Well, if he’s the one the hive wanted, why are the rest of us here?” the Greenpeace girl asked.

“You were the only citizens in Hatchetfield we deemed plot-relevant,” he replied, pressing another button. On the screen appeared a still-image from a security camera aimed at the high street. It was grainy, but Paul recognised his uncomfortable self standing in the centre of a singing crowd, on his way to work that morning. “We realise it may be disturbing to witness how each of you behaved whilst unconscious, and we have designed our presentation to limit any pain it may cause, but I shall remind you that any of you may leave whenever you wish, there will be a car ready to take you back to Hatchetfield.” No one budged. “Well then – let’s begin.”

It was still bad, but Paul couldn’t help but be engrossed with a horrified curiosity. They had footage of most of what happened that day. He cringed at his Beanies melt-down – no wonder Emma hadn’t believed him, he looked like a raving psychotic (although it was probably nowhere near as awkward as it was for Mr. Davidson when they played the song he’d sang in his office). They’d cut out all the gore, with a large black rectangle covering Sam’s head when Ted smashed it in. And Charlotte! Poor Charlotte, who just wanted her husband back, that whole song was devastating. She kept composure somehow; Ted put an arm around her shoulder. The next clip was of the barroom. There were a few chuckles at Bill’s “Head-kick” threat, and at the jokes he’d made sitting with Emma, but all humour quickly dissipated when Charlotte burst in. Audible gasps were heard as the shotgun fired, 2 more rectangles censoring the result. Then Bill’s phone rang.

Paul knew what was coming next. Bill, Alice and Deb huddled closer together as the next clip started, a low-resolution security tape of the hallways in Hatchetfield High, watching in silent terror as the two men tip-toed through the school. By the end of it, Alice wasn’t able to supress her sobs. Bill stroked her head and whispered reassurance in her ear as Deb held her hands. A man in sunglasses skipped part of the video just as Alice picked up the shotgun, sparing her from that at least. It started again as armed soldiers stormed the school. He saw Emma jump slightly as the gun hit his past-self’s head. Paul took the opportunity to risk looking at her properly. She looked more awake than when she first entered, probably adjusting to the hangover. She looked back at him, but to his surprise and relief, there was no fear left in her expression for now; a worried sympathy had taken its place. Paul still felt a pang of regret at this, but he appreciated the concern, and it was definitely better than the terror he’d seen in her the day before.

A couple of minutes passed before the presentation continued. Enough time for Bill and Deb to calm Alice down as the rest of the room looked on in quiet commiseration. Paul held Emma’s gaze for a few seconds more before turning to support his friend.

When things did pick up again, Paul was finally able to have the gaps in his knowledge filled in. The air of hostility that flooded the room when Hidgens took out that syringe was palpable. Emma’s shift from fear to fury, Ted’s outburst, both made complete sense. Paul could barely keep his attention away from his own outrage until a soft “Ooohhh,” from Bill next to him brought him back to the present in time to hear the phrase “WEAR A WATCH!” blaring through the speakers. Then, after another bought of indignation upon seeing Emma and Ted tied up the way Ted had described, as well as listening to the professor’s deranged lecture, Paul had a hard time focussing due to present-day Ted bopping his head and lip-syncing to Hidgens’s serenade. He couldn’t help but feel a little pity when those things got to him, though.

The same went for Ted. At least the asshole was consistent throughout it all, even if that involved leaving him for dead, which Charlotte gave him a disgusted elbow to the ribs for. But then he was shot too, and all was forgiven. Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck, and Paul was glad of it, that there was someone there to comfort him. How can you hold a grudge when karma takes care of it for you? He still didn’t deserve it though. None of them deserved it.

That _song_. Shivers sliced along his spine with every note, and yet he was fully aware that there was worse to come. Paul watched himself being strangled and remembered vividly how it felt, how his vision clouded over, and his head became dense and heavy with the pressure. And then Emma – _nice shot_ – saving his live for the second time in a few short minutes.

The helicopter.

The crash.

The beach

The angles were weird and the cameras were far away, but he remembered every second of it. 

He watched himself leave, but the clip kept rolling for a few more seconds, showing something he never saw. Past-Emma slumped back to the ground, clutched her leg and cringed into the sand, body shaking with what must have been sobs. Paul leant forward onto the table, bringing up an arm to support his head. Part of his mind registered Bill’s hand on his shoulder. He wished he’d known it wasn’t going to work. He wished to God he hadn’t left her like that, in the dark, in pain, by herself. Maybe she’d have been spared if he had stayed. They would have found them together, turned them together. She wouldn’t have had to be alone, both then and the previous night, because she might not have needed to get away from him if it had been someone else. Maybe she wouldn’t be afraid of him.

Paul barely gave any notice to the next bit; after all, he knew what happened. It was still appalling, but he knew he’d need to ration his tolerance. He looked as crazy as he’d felt, body jerking about as he’d tried to struggle against it. A fraction of the explosion was heard, but the video immediately cut out, and the screen became filled with static.

He looked back to Emma. He had no clue what was coming, but when she looked back at him, the fear had returned to her expression. Paul leant forward slightly.

The angle was confusing. It looked like it was still the theatre, but surely that wasn’t possible. The camera was placed high up, looking down into a box on the stage. A set, designed like a hospital? At the bottom of the frame a few audience members were visible on the front row of seats. It didn’t make any sense. Then Emma walked in. Paul was mystified by the conversation they had. It wasn’t until that line, “Peep would like to see it become more,” that Paul understood. He gave Emma a horrified glance. She was looking at him too, tears brimming in her eyes.

This was going to be brutal.

There he was. On the screen, walking in, smiling, without a scratch. 

_“Oh my god - Paul? You made it? Haha, we made it!”_

_Please, no._

He wanted to scream at her to get away as she ran into his arms.

_“Emma, I’m sorry, you lost…”_

_"Paul?"_

He couldn’t watch, but he had to. 

_“Emma, I’m sorry you lost your way…”_

_“Paul, you’re scaring me.”_

He fought the urge to run as he watched himself forcing her to dance with him.

“… _I’m still the man you trust_ …” Those words, spoken in his voice. It was disgusting.

He watched as past-Emma broke away from him, shouting, only to have her path blocked. She was _limping_ , for God’s sake. There was no mercy.

Someone in the room was crying. Was it him? A set of arms wrapped around his shoulders. He nearly didn’t feel it.

The tune changed. The lyrics became more and more twisted. Emma left the frame, only to return on the other side.

“ _...Emma! Let me puke in your mouth!_ ” Paul wanted to scream.

They dragged her across the stage. The walls fell down. Everything made sense.

Her blood-curdling scream shook through his whole body.

There was that word again, _inevitable_. It really was, wasn’t it? Of course they were never going to avoid it, just like how Emma had no chance of escaping him. She must have known this at the time, but still had to endure it being dragged on for what felt like an eternity.

Emma fell to the floor. His past-self towered over her. He knew exactly what her face would look like in that moment.

The final note.

The bows.

The _applause_.

Emma, pleading with the audience, stumbling about, crying, screaming.

They dragged her out of frame, and the monitor went blank.

Silence.

Paul was shaking by the time it was over. No wonder she was so afraid of him, he wondered how she could even bare to sit so close. He couldn’t look at her.

General McNamara got up to speak after a moment. His voice was hushed. “We have one more clip, the last song we are aware of the hive composing. The recording is from an hour later.” With that, he stepped to the side to let it play.

Paul’s numbness prevented him from feeling much more than a vague confusion. Mr. Davidson, of all people, was the first to sing, followed by Charlotte, then Ted.

_“…The last remaining story to tell: The guy who didn’t like musicals!”_

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

Bill and Melissa sang next, then Emma. All Paul could think of was the film Carrie. Her clothes were completely ruined, blood-soaked and torn, the way he remembered. She had wounds he swore weren't there before though, large gashes covering her body head-to-toe. He knew it had to be his doing. A lot had happened in an hour. At least they weren't going to make her watch it happen a second time.

He’d heard enough. Paul looked down at his own hands. The backs of them were wet, he’d been sitting with them cupped over his mouth, forcing tears to run down them. He wiped his face with his sleeve. Those arms around him – Alice’s, he realised – loosened their grip. She patted his shoulder before returning to his seat.

Something didn’t add up, though. When he first woke up, he’d found Emma tied down, but there she was, dancing around, calling… calling him a piece of shit, nice. The monitor went blank for the last time. Paul looked around the room – it was evident that he wasn’t the only one with questions. 

The general stepped back in front of the screen. “After analysing the lyrics, we have come to the conclusion that this last song serves as a retrospective opening number. It is also the last piece of CCTV footage that we were able to source before this meeting began. We have filled you in as best we can, but I’m sure there is still a great deal of confusion. Feel free to ask any questions you may have, just keep in mind that any answers we give may be pure conjecture.”

A beat passed before someone spoke. That someone was professor Hidgens. “Forgive me, but I believe that something you said doesn’t align with my calculations. You claim that it took just two days for the entire world’s population to become infected, but according to my notes-“ he flicked through a couple of notebooks before finding the right page, “- the exponential growth of infected individuals, taking into account the world’s population and the distance infected individuals would have to travel, in addition to the speed of spore-diffusion, results in an estimate of 2 and a half weeks minimum for the invasion to be complete. If this is correct, how is it that every single human being was infected in such a short space of time?” The General looked behind him at one of his colleagues, who stepped forward and up to the table.

“I can answer that – the name’s Xander Lee, I’m actually a physicist, but a contact of mine has reported that there is a chance the hive used water as a mode of transmission, infecting reservoirs, oceans, lakes; any source it encountered.”

“Of _course_!” The professor began furiously scouring his journals.

“Um, I have one,” said Charlotte.” Now, I’m sure I must have just missed something, but how was I there, singing that last song? Only, when I woke up, I was still in the professor’s lab; I assumed I never left, but evidently I was wrong.”

The General considered this for a moment. “It is possible that there is footage somewhere of your return, we intend to continue our search, if you want we can contact you should we find anything.”

“But _why_ did she go back there?” Ted asked. “And why did it leave us there in the theatre, instead of making us go back to the lab too?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” professor Hidgens interjected, his notes forgotten. He jumped up to his feet and posed in a theatrical manner. “The _DRAMA_!” Everyone at the table stared at him vacantly until he slowly sat down again. After clearing his throat, he continued. 

“What I mean to say is, it’s exactly as how you phrased it before – the hive mind has entered a spectator-like state. I assume you meant this to mean that the infection became dormant, present but no longer in control, but what if it did just that in a more _literal_ way? What if it positioned us specifically to elicit the most dramatic outcome upon waking us up? If it had unrestricted access to our thoughts, our memories, then it had a good chance of being able to accurately predict how we would behave in such scenarios. It understood our nature well enough to shepherd us with determined expertise before we were even infected, but what if the puppet-master’s arms have grown weary?”

Paul recalled that phantom feeling, the anticipation that had buzzed through him before he woke up. Was _this_ what it had been looking forward to, becoming an audience member with a front row seat to the wake of an almost-apocalypse? Apparently.

“An interesting theory,” General McNamara replied. “Sir, would you be willing to stay behind and share your research with us? It could make for a valuable contribution to our efforts.”

The professor beamed. “I would be _honoured_!”

“Excellent. Are there any more questions?” The room remained silent. “Well, we have given you as in-depth an explanation as we are able, you are all free to leave – there are cars outside waiting. If there are any more questions, by all means stay behind and ask them. And, on a final note, if any individual in this room shares anything discussed in this meeting with the general public, or mentions this organisation to anyone who isn’t already present, they will find themselves lobotomised before they can say “De-classified”. Good afternoon.” 

“Wait, so is the world still a musical?” Sam asked. He was among the few who had remained silent, and his voice wasn’t expected. “Because Charlotte sang at me after we woke up.”

Professor Hidgens gasped and the General raised his eyebrows. “Could you tell us what the song was about?”

Charlotte blushed slightly. “I… I was telling him I wanted a divorce.”

“Fascinating!” Exclaimed the professor.

“But you remember the whole thing? You definitely felt like you were in control or your actions?” asked Xander Lee.

“Well, I think so. I don’t know what it was, I guess it just felt _right_.”

The general considered this for a moment. “Without any in-depth research to support this answer, officer, I dare say that yes – the world is still a musical.”

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was going to go on for a little bit longer but I haven't yet decided if there's going to be a perspective change for the next bit, which will be set like a "minute" after this chapter ends.  
> There's also a reference to a Steve Hofstetter joke in there somewhere, if anyone gets it I will be amazed.  
> Also Also, I really wished I had an excuse to include "I am authorising you to use my firearm" but there was no way it would fit.


	8. What do you say? (when you nearly killed her)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You good now, Paul?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting in some references, ya know?  
> As usual, I hope you enjoy!

“I’ll be out in a minute, don’t worry,” Paul said to Bill, who joined the crowd of people filing out of the room. He watched his friend join hands with his daughter as they left before walking up to the General. He was talking in a hushed voice with Xander Lee, facing away from Paul.

“General McNamara? Can I have a moment?” 

The General turned to face him. “Please, call me John.” 

Paul smiled. “Right, uh, _John_ ,” he unfastened the watch on his left wrist and held it out, “I thought you’d like this back. And thank you, for everything. We wouldn’t have made it as far as we did without your help.”

John took the watch and looked at it for a moment before securing it on his own wrist. “Paul, I’ve been working with this organisation for many years, and if there’s one thing that never ceases to surprise me, it’s how good will rise from evil even when there is nothing for it to cling to. I would like to personally thank you for your noble sacrifice. You have done this nation a great service, no matter the outcome. And on that note, I would also like to offer my sincerest apologies for the way things turned out. I realise that my intervention ended up being counter-productive, and I bitterly regret what transpired.”

“Oh, well thank you, that means a lot, Sir. But hey, we’re all still alive, right?”

John smirked. “Indeed we are. How’s the neck?”

He rubbed it instinctively. “Good as new. And that reminds me – can we just heal everything now? Because I exploded, so are we immortal now, or…?”

“That’s a negative, Paul. I got a papercut this morning and it’s still there. I believe it was more of a plot device, I’m afraid, but that is one of the many things we at Peep intend to look into.”

“Oh, right, cool.” Paul paused, unsure of what to say next. John walked up to him and placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder.

“She will forgive you, Paul. Give her time.” Paul hadn’t expected such sentiment, and it took him by surprise. All he could manage as a response was a solemn nod. “Right, I’m sorry Paul, but now I must leave you. Whilst our race appears to be out of immediate danger, one cannot be too cautious when working with extra-terrestrial life-forms; we have a lot of work ahead of us. The hive has already proven itself to be an especially volatile entity, and Peep will do its best to monitor for any changes, I assure you. Oh, and we will be keeping a close eye on your town, standard protocol, but if things go well, you and I shall probably never meet again.”

Paul saluted. “It’s been an honour, sir.”

“Likewise,” The General responded, returning the gesture.

Paul was halfway through the door when General McNamara called his name. He turned back to look at him.

“You’re in Peep now, Paul. Get her done.”

*****

The moment Paul entered the reception, a small frame crashed into him, nearly pushing him over. It took him a second to register that it was Alice, who had flung her arms around his neck. He patted her back gently, looking over her shoulder at Bill who was walking towards them, with Deb two steps behind him.

“How do you feel?” he asked tentatively. His voice was rough and tired, almost unchanged from last night.

“I’m okay, Bill, thanks. Really, Alice, it’s alright.” She released her arms and stood back a bit. Fresh tears lingered on her eyelids, threatening to overflow. 

“Paul, I’m so sorry about everything-“

“Alice, baby, it wasn’t your fault,” Bill and Deb interrupted in unison, before giving each other an uncomfortable look.

“They’re right, Alice. Please, don’t worry about it.” She looked away and bit her lip, apparently refusing to forgive herself. “And hey,” he said, catching her eye again. “Thanks for looking after me in there.”

She sniffed and nodded slightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah Paul,” Bill said, stepping forward. Alice linked her arm with his and held out her hand for Deb. “That was pretty rough. You seem… oddly calm now.”

Paul sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t actually know how he felt. The pain was still there, lingering at the back of his mind, but as a whole he felt more frayed than distressed. “I think I’m just tired now. Do you know if we have work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Mr. Davidson says he expects us all in usual time.” Bill checked the time on his phone. “Well, I’ve missed church. Alice’s mom wants her home tonight, so we were gonna walk her home and get the bus back to Hatchetfield, if you wanted to come with us. You could come over and watch a movie or something after, try and relax with what’s left of the weekend?”

Paul considered this for a moment. It might be nice to have some company, but he was still exhausted. He hadn’t really slept at all the night before, waking over and over again at each disturbing dream that flashed across his mind. All he felt up to was going home, somewhere quiet and comfortable. Besides, he was in desperate need of a shower.

“Actually, I think I might just head back to my place, get some rest, y’know?”

“Sure thing, Paul.” Bill and Alice hugged him at the same time, with Deb hanging back awkwardly. “Stay safe.”

“Yeah, stay safe.” He waved at them as they left. Through the door he could see the Greenpeace girl, loading the group she came with back into a minivan. Ted and Charlotte were nowhere in sight, but looking around the foyer, his heart leapt up into his throat as he spotted Emma, leaning against a pillar and talking to her colleagues. He knew he couldn’t leave without speaking to her first.

She was facing him, but her eyes were fixed on the floor. He slowly made his way over, making sure to keep a sizeable distance. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Her boss appeared to be doing most of the speaking, with Emma giving short replies or sometimes just nodding in response. Something made her roll her eyes though, at which point she looked up enough to spot him. He gave a weak smile before looking away, trying his very best not to look like a creepy stalker. Unfortunately, this meant he didn’t have time to register her expression, whether or not he had scared her, if it might be better for him to just leave. He risked a glance back at her. Her boss had stopped talking, and both her co-workers were now looking at him, with Emma’s eyes fixed back on the ground. They turned back, said something inaudible, and left. Emma’s boss gave him an apologetic look as she passed.

When he looked back at Emma, Paul was startled to see her walking towards him, her expression unreadable. She stopped two metres away from him, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach. It was impossible not to think about everything he’d just seen, and what he never _would_ see. All that _blood_ …

“Zoey says sorry for shooting at us, and Nora says sorry for trying to murder you, or something like that,” she said. Her voice was identical to Bill’s, the same mix of tired and upset.

“Right, yeah. Uh… tell them it’s nothing.”

"Sure."

_Say something_. Nothing came to mind. Thankfully, Emma carried on speaking.

“And to think some lucky bastards just had to drink water,” she joked, a sort of half-smile twisting at the corner of her mouth. He gave a shaky laugh.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s something only Batman villains do, infecting the water supply.”

“Oh well that figures. Not with blue shit, I’ll bet? God, can you imagine a Batman musical?”

“Oh God, no. No, I think it was just regular poison, fortunately.”

“Well, aren’t they the lucky ones…” 

They stared at each other. There was too much that needed saying. Paul thought it best that he be the one to start.

“Look, Emma… I would love to make it up to you, but I-“

Emma’s brow furrowed. “Make it up to me? For what?”

Paul started. “Well… for… y‘know, everything, I guess. For… for what I _did_ …”

“Hold up… do you think I _blame_ you?” She took a slow step towards him, uncrossing her arms.

“Not _blame_ , exactly. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry for what happened, regardless, and I... I understand if you don’t want to be near me.”

“I do, I just…” She trailed off, rubbing her forehead and sighing.

“It’s okay, I know. I get it. Which is why I’m gonna be getting my coffee from Starbucks from now on.” That hurt to say, and the sad, lost look Emma gave him in response hurt even more, but it was necessary. “You look like you could use some time, and that’s okay. I think we should keep our distance, just for a while.”

She whispered a small “Thank you”. Paul smiled at her, trying his best to look reassuring. Her lip quivered slightly and a tear rolled down her cheek, and his smile immediately vanished. Instinctively he lifted his hands a fraction, wanting to help but not knowing how. To his surprise, she rushed towards him, throwing her arms around his waist. He wrapped his own arms carefully around her back, and rested his cheek on the top of her head. He couldn’t help but close his eyes.

“I’m sorry too, Paul,” she mumbled against his chest. Her back shook with her muffled sobbing, and he comforted her as best he could with a few gentle shushes.

“It’s okay, everything’s okay,” he soothed. He took the opportunity to savour how it felt, to be in her arms, to have his arms around her, in a situation when neither of them are dying or already dead. He memorised how small she felt, pressed against him like that. How her hair smelt, the warmth of her embrace, everything he could possibly think of he committed to memory.

“I swear to God, if you start _fucking_ singing…” 

Paul couldn’t contain the strange sort of strangled laugh this caused. He straightened out of his stoop to look at her properly. Standing so close, it was easy to see the dark, shadow-like circles under her eyes. She must have been as exhausted as he was, if not more. He almost choked up at the realisation that they would have to part now, and that he didn’t know how long for.

“If you ever decide you don’t hate me so much, I work at CCRP technical. If you call the reception they can patch you through anytime.”

“I don’t hate you, Paul.” She brought up a hand to stroke the side of his face. He leant into it and closed his eyes again. When he opened them, her face was the softest he’d ever seen it. “But I think you’re right; I do need space. Thank you.” She patted his cheek and looked down, stepping around him and walking towards the door. She stopped and turned back to face him.

“See you around, okay?”

"Okay."

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think General McNamara and Xander Lee are probably gonna make another appearance because I love them, and maybe even an explanation for why Colonel Schaeffer wasn't in Black Friday.  
> I've noticed a mistake that I can't get around; I wrote this to have the debriefing held on a Sunday, with "inevitable" being sang Saturday night, making most of the musical's events happen on a Friday, which means Alice was going back to Clivesdale on Friday morning before she got off the bus, even though she goes to school in Clivesdale and shouldn't be there mid-week. I need to re-watch the scene, but I think Bill says he only has her one day a week. In short, I made a mistake with the timings, so I shall excuse this by saying in this reality, Alice only went to Hatchetfield to see Mama Mia in the evening on Thursday after attending school in Clivesdale, rather than being there just because of the custody arrangement, intending to take the bus back in time for school on Friday (which she cut to go and see Deb). I hope that fixes it, but if it doesn't oh well


	9. A long week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatchetfield citizens try their best to continue with their normal lives. Paul has a meeting, Zoey puts her foot down, Charlotte takes the first step, Alice surprises her Dad and Emma receives encouragement. (5/5 parts available)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I wasn't going to upload a chapter in parts again (or I think I did), but really I think sticking to decisions is highly overrated. The first part (Monday) is for Lamuel :)  
> This ended up being the chonkiest chapter thus far, beating c.7 by I think like 1000 words. I definitely wont upload in parts anymore, but I said that once and look what happened.

**Monday, October 15th – 2pm**

As Paul stepped back onto the high street, he took a brief sip of his fresh coffee, ignoring how it burnt his tongue. It was good; he hated it. He hated everything about his trip to Starbucks. He hated how awkward he’d felt standing opposite the tired-looking barista, some high school kid who didn’t even try to make conversation with him (hardly their fault, he knew, but it was just so uncomfortable). He hated how everyone in the streets acted so normal (all except the woman from Greenpeace, who didn’t even look at him when he passed – actually, this was one change Paul could get used to). He hated how every newspaper in sight was plastered with “PRESIDENT HOWARD GOODMAN’S OFFICIAL STATEMENT ON MUSICAL PANDEMIC: 'THERE IS NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT'”, as if everyone didn’t already listen to it on the radio that morning. Of course the newspapers would capitalise everyone’s fear, as usual.

He hated that he didn't get to walk that extra block.

Distracting himself from that thought as he snaked his way through the flow of pedestrians, Paul looked back on his day so far. His entire morning had been pretty shit. He had expected this, but that didn’t make it any easier. The moment he had sat down at his desk that morning, he sensed Melissa appearing behind him

“Uhm, hey Paul,” she said with an uncertain smile. 

“Hey Melissa.” The pleasantries felt off, like it was someone else delivering their mundane greetings.

“I… I just wanted to say I’m really sorry, about what happened to you, it looked really… anyways, uh, I’m- _we_ are all here if you want to talk.”

If there was one thing Paul was unequipped to deal with at that moment, it was sympathy. “Right, thanks, Melissa, that’s really nice of you. I, uh, I actually have a lot of backlogging to do from Friday’s workload though, so maybe some other time?”

“Oh, okay, yeah, sure thing Paul.” She looked down at her clipboard for a second and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her expression became even more uneasy. “Actually, I also came over to say that Mr. Davidson wants to see you in his office…”

He stared at his computer for a moment, his username only half entered. This didn’t feel eerily familiar at all.

“I can tell him you’re too busy if you want,” Melissa blurted, holding her hands up in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture.

“No, no it’s okay. I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks Melissa.” He gave her a polite nod and tried his best to force his mouth into a normal, equally polite smile. Her eyes softened as she reciprocated and walked away, so Paul guessed he did a good job.

 _Shit_. Mr. Davidson wanted to see him. Paul had no idea what it could be about, but he highly doubted it was going to be an enjoyable experience. He finished logging in before activating screensaver mode and pushing back his chair. He patted Bill on the shoulder as he passed.

Making his way over to the office door, Paul took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He doubted he was going to be fired, but it was still a possibility. That wasn’t what worried Paul though; it was more the anticipation of an extremely uncomfortable conversation that had him on edge. His fingers hesitated on the door handle. Eventually, he decided it was probably better to knock first.

Three soft taps were followed by a muffled “Come in”. _Okay... Okay... Okay._

Paul entered quickly, keeping his eyes on the floor as he shut the door behind him. Mr. Davidson was leaning on the back of his chair, a newspaper lying open on the seat. He cleared his throat and smiled, a forced, nervous grin. 

“Paul! Thank you for joining me, take a seat.” He gestured to the same chair he’d sat in three days ago. Paul walked over to it wordlessly, watching as his boss moved around his own chair and sat down, picking up the newspaper and folding it before placing it on the desk. “First of all, I’d like to thank you for sending in your weekly statistical report last night, you’ve really made getting back on track a lot easier for everyone.” Paul had almost forgot that he’d stayed up until two in the morning completing it, his last-ditch effort to make himself sleep. It had worked; by the time he finished, he was so bored that he dropped off the moment his head hit the pillow.

“Well, I know it’s important for the company, and I felt that, given the circumstances, the last thing we need at CCPR is a slip up.” Paul gained no pleasure from sucking up to his boss like that, but if it kept him his job, he didn’t see any reason to stop.

“And I appreciate that, Paul. Y’know, I’ve always seen you as a team player, and that’s exactly the kind of employee I look for.” This didn’t sound like a dismissal, which if anything, worried Paul even more. He could only think of one other reason for his boss wanting to speak with him. “Well, I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you have a lot of work to do, I just thought it best that I apologise for our uh, _meeting_ on Friday-“

 _Oh no_. “Really sir, it’s fine, you don’t have to-“

“I am aware that… what I said… it was inappropriate conduct for the workplace… and I can assure you it wasn’t... well, my wife and I… that is to say, I never would have... when I said that… Carol is very... when it comes to _love_ -no, no...”

This was exactly what Paul had been afraid of. He wished his chair would just swallow him whole already.

“Mr. Davidson, it’s okay. That wasn’t you, I understand.”

The agitated man in front of him took a deep breath. The smile that followed was more honest than any Paul had seen all morning. “Thanks, Paul. I would also like to extend my apology to the events that occurred in the Starlight Theatre-“ Paul didn’t really hear the rest of the sentence. Every time someone mentioned that night, it was like a trapdoor opened up beneath him. And that look, he’d seen it so many times since that debriefing; the knotted eyebrows, the tilted head, looking at him like he was a wounded puppy. They were trying to be nice, he knew that, and at least he didn’t feel alone, but every time their sympathy just made him feel completely helpless. All he wanted was to forget, move on. “Find the new-normal”, as Goodman had phrased it in his statement. Yet there he was, forced to remember again and again.

Mr. Davidson had finished speaking and was looking at him expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Paul replied, without knowing whether or not that was an appropriate response. His boss nodded and stood up. Paul did the same.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work, I’m sure you’re very busy at the moment. Here, let me.” Mr. Davidson opened the door for him, closing it gently behind Paul once he’d passed. 

The meeting had gone about as bad as Paul feared it would, but at least he still had a job. It was difficult to make himself move, so he allowed himself to just stand there for a minute before doing anything. Looking around the office, he made eye contact with Ted, who was standing next to Charlotte by the water cooler. He smiled at Paul and put down his drink, using one hand to lift Charlotte’s to his neck, and the other to make an obscene gesture near his zipper. Paul immediately set off for his desk, clicking his hands together the whole way.

*****

**Tuesday, October 16th – 7:03 pm**

“Ugh, go _away_ , Sam, you’re such a fucking _creep!_ ” Zoey practically punched the hang up button on her phone before shoving it back in her pocket. She’d been ignoring his calls all shift, and had even taken to leaving her phone in the breakroom (a new experience given that it was always either in her hand or in her back pocket, but the notifications had pissed her off enough to demand an adjustment to her routine). The second she picked it up after her shift ended, it had rung in her hands, and she’d answered it in a moment of pure curiosity. One she immediately regretted.

“That guy still bothering you?” asked a voice behind her. Nora’s arm came in to view as she hung up her apron on the hooks next to Zoey. They were closing much earlier than usual due to a lack of customers.

“Yup. The same shit, over and over. Dude must think I was born yesterday.” She hung up her own apron. Normally she’d just take it home, but she wanted to change out of her work-clothes before meeting with some friends, so there was no use in bringing it with her.

“What an _ass_. I mean really, who keeps a secret like that?”

“I _know_. And the worst part is he doesn’t even see what’s wrong with it. He just keeps telling me ‘Oh, but we were gonna get divorced anyway, so what’s the problem?’ uh,”-she dropped her mocking tone- “The problem, fuck-o, is that you were _fucking married!"_ She said this last part directly at her phone, before tucking it away again. “I mean, W.T.Fuck!?”

“Ugh, just forget him. He’s not worth anyone’s time.”

“You got that right!” Zoey removed her tie and pulled her shirt over her head without bothering to undo the buttons, swapping it for a grey cami. With the shorts of her uniform, it was easy enough to make herself look casual with very little effort involved.

“Going somewhere nice?” Nora hadn’t bothered changing her shirt, and simply replaced her apron with a tan jacket.

“I guess you could say that. The Starlight has been asking for volunteers to help clean up after those people came and removed a bunch of rubble, so I’m meeting a couple of the others and we’re gonna see if we can help out.”

“Wow, that’s… nice of you.” Zoey looked up at Nora to see one of her eyebrows raised in suspicion. 

She smirked in response. “If we do a good job, maybe they’ll be kind enough to give us some free tickets…”

“There it is,” Nora said with a chuckle. Zoey gave her a light elbow to the ribs, but she laughed with her. They stopped the moment the door opened. Emma walked in and headed straight for her bag.

“I finished wiping down, am I alright to clock out?” she asked monotonously.

“Yeah, of course. Good job.” Nora’s praise was acknowledged with a half-hearted thumbs up. Emma grabbed her stuff and left, headphones on her head before she even left the room. “So Mouth has found her voice at last,” she mumbled, the moment the door closed.

“I guess. I haven’t heard her speak outside of taking orders since Sunday. She didn’t even react when that douche in the trench coat made her redo his order _three_ times.”

“Well, at least she actually seems to put some effort into her work these days.”

Zoey couldn’t help feeling a little guilty. Yeah, Emma was snappy and miserable, but she was going through something, and what’s more, they were a part of it. It had felt strange, seeing herself in that helicopter.. but on the plus side her vocals were on point. Still, she learned a lot about Emma that day, stuff she never mentioned, about her sister, about her life. She seemed… lonely. “Should we try talking to her again? Properly?”

Nora shrugged. “We already tried. I even offered to lower her hours but she declined. If she wants to mope, that’s her problem. I’ve got a business to run, and if she’s putting in the work, that’s fine in my books.” Zoey was going to contradict this, but she let the matter drop. She wasn’t going to leave it alone, but there was no use starting an argument. Maybe she’d do something small, like that time her roommate left some ice cream with a post-it note on it for her in the freezer after her last breakup. 

Zoey pushed it out of her mind for the time being. She shoved her shirt into her bag and pulled it on. “Anyways, see ya, Nora.”

"Later."

Stepping outside, the brisk evening air took no time at all to make goose-bumps flash across the skin of her arms. She hugged her sides, wishing she’d thought to bring a hoodie. Her ride would be there any minute, but checking her phone, she was just starting to consider waiting for them inside when a voice behind her called out.

“You need a ride, baby?”

_Oh fuck off._

Zoey bit her lip to hold in the angry words forming in the back of her throat as she turned to face him. Sam had parked his squad car on the street corner and was leaning against it. He pulled his shades a couple of centimetres down his nose and winked.

“Nope, I’m good.” _Take a hint, jackass_. She stomped off in the opposite direction. She could hear his footsteps as she caught up to her, but the hand closing tight around her upper arm was unexpected enough to alarm her. She froze, which allowed him to pull her back to face him. She wrenched herself free, disgusted.

“Jesus, aren’t you a fucking police officer!?” She couldn’t believe how far he’d just crossed the line.

“Right, baby I’m sorry, I just miss you so mu-“

“So!? You look like a fucking stalker, Sam.” Just in time, she spotted a familiar car driving towards them down the street and immediately started heading for it. She kept her arms tensed in case he decided to grab them again. Thankfully, he didn’t. She called over her shoulder as she walked, not wanting to look at him. “We’re done, Sam – stay the fuck away from me.”

*****

**Wednesday, October 17th – 6.47 pm**

“Well Charlotte, you certainly meet the requirements. Your history of marriage counselling supports the argument of “irreconcilable differences”, and you’ve lived in Hatchetfield long enough, but in order to file for a divorce, there has to have been a separation period of at least six months. Now, if you convince your husband to sign a written agreement, then we can bypass this. Do you think that would be possible?”

Charlotte had only just understood what the man was saying in his high-pitched, nasal voice, but the moment she grasped it she nodded enthusiastically. She could do that – just one more meeting with Sam. 

“Perfect. I’ll print you off a copy of a pre-written contract, all you have to do is get him to sign, and bring it back to me, say, by this time next week?” Another nod. “Perfect. In the meantime, I’ll draw up all the proper forms ready for our next meeting; you’ll need to bring your financial records, concerning any debts, along with an up-to-date list of any accounts, real estate, or other assets, in order to complete them. Is that okay?” Even more nodding. “Perfect!” The lanky man stood up from behind his desk and strode over to the door. Charlotte followed, slightly flustered.

“Oh but, wait, Mr. Lawyer, Sir-“

“Please, call me Gary.”

“Oh, of course, _Gary_ … uhm, what happens if Sam… _doesn’t_ sign the contract?”

“Then I’m afraid our only option will be to wait out the full separation period.”

Charlotte’s heart stiffened a bit at the thought of waiting another six months. What if she were to change her mind? She couldn’t stay married to Sam, that was why she’d decided to strike while the iron was hot. But if that really was the only way…

She was just going to have to be strong.

“Alright,” she replied at last. “Whatever it takes.”

Gary opened the door and gestured to the row of seats lined up against the wall opposite. “Now, if you’d care to wait here for a few moments and I’ll be back shortly with your contract.” Just then, a faint buzzing came from is earpiece. “Forgive me-“ he tapped the button on the side “-Hi, Gary Goldstein, attorney at law… uh huh… why, of course Ms. Monroe, I’d be happy to-“ His voice faded away as he walked off down the corridor.

Sitting down, an odd sensation rippled through Charlotte. It was like excitement, but almost in a child-like way, as if she were standing in a queue for a rollercoaster. She fished out a small newspaper clipping from her purse, which had brought on a similar feeling when she’d stumbled across it the previous morning. It was an advert for the services of “MR. GARY GOLDSTEIN: ATTOURNEY AT LAW”. Written underneath in smaller text was a short paragraph: _“ARE YOU SINGLE? NO? WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE? IS YOUR WIFE SLEEPING WITH ANOTHER MAN? HI, I’M GARY GOLDSTEIN: ATTOURNEY AT LAW. RECENTLY, I’VE BECOME AVAILABLE FOR RECRUITMENT AS A DIVORCE LAWYER. TOGETHER, WE CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE – ONE FAILED MARRIAGE AT A TIME!”._

Admittedly the advert had seemed a little.. forward, but it was promising, and now Charlotte felt like she could already count responding to it as one of the best decisions she’d ever made. She made an effort to calm down, not wanting to get ahead of herself. There was still a long, long way to go…

“Hey there, sugar.” Charlotte started at the familiar greeting, and her head snapped up to face the slouching man in front of her. 

“Ted! What are you doing here?” He sat down next to her and handed her one of the coffees he was carrying, taking a sip of his own before he answered the question.

“Well, y’know, I was just in the neighbourhood, and I remembered you telling me about this meeting, yesterday, and I thought eh, I’ve got nothin’ going on.”

She took a grateful sip from the to-go cup in her hand. She savoured the warmth – figurative and literal – before forcing herself to be realistic.

“Ted, now I don’t want to sound rude, and I’m glad that you’re here, I really am, but… you’re being nice. Selfless, even… why?” She knew Ted, she’d worked with him for years, and whilst they had this undeniable chemistry between them, he was hardly a gentleman, and she didn’t kid herself. This level of kindness was simply uncharacteristic.

He gasped in an exaggerated manner, and she could only giggle. “Oh, how _dare_ you!” She laughed harder at the cartoonish expression on his face. Nudging him carefully (whilst trying her best to avoid spilling coffee over both of them), she gave him a soft reprimand.

“Ted, be serious!” He relaxed his features into his trademark grin, until she saw something in his face that she was almost certain only she had ever seen. There was an honesty, an openness in there, behind all the cocky bravado that everyone else associated with him. Deep down, she knew there was some heart in him. Very deep, but it was still there, she was sure of it.

But then something changed in his eyes, something clouded them over that she definitely wasn’t used to seeing in him. It was the unmistakable hollowness of regret. The reason for it was clear too.

After the debriefing, they hardly said a word to each other for the rest of the day, even though she left and spent the night by his side. He’d looked like that the whole time.

Charlotte became very aware of the office around them, the people working, having meetings, making phone calls. She tore her eyes away from his, and rested them on her cup.

“Well thank you, Ted. You know, it means a lot that you’re here.” She looked back at him; the regret had faded (allow she suspected it hadn’t disappeared. She made a mental note to address it at a better time). For now, Charlotte enjoyed the contentment they shared.

The time passed slowly, but in a good way. There was a leisure to it, they could be lying on sun-loungers beside a pristine white beach for all she cared. They talked about unimportant stuff, they drank their coffee, they waited as if that spot was exactly where they were meant to be. Eventually, Gary Goldstein returned, handed Charlotte a plain manilla folder, and excused himself for “an urgent meeting”, before immediately walking back into his office and shutting the door firmly behind him. She could have sworn she saw him loosening his tie. Charlotte smiled up at Ted and, without thinking, took his hand as they strolled their way through the main entrance. 

Once they made it outside, Charlotte nearly spilt the remainder of her coffee over herself in the parking lot, when a blonde woman walked right into her.

“Excuse me! Mind where you’re going, you disgusting wretch!” she screeched, without even breaking her stride or looking back to address them. She continued to waltz over to the building as Charlotte and Ted stared after her in disbelief.

After a moment, Ted’s hand slapped her shoulder. “Oh my God, I know her!”

“You _know her?"_

“Yeah! That’s Linda Monroe, she lives in that huge mansion in Pinebrook.”

“Oh, now, how on Earth could you know that?”

Ted smoothed back his hair and winked. “Oh, y’know, she and I had a little… get-together, shall we say, once upon a time…” Somehow, his face became even more smug than usual. Charlotte didn't think that was possible.

“Oh I don’t believe that for a second! What, Linda Monroe? As in, the plastic surgeon’s wife? The one with her face on that big sign down by the docks?”

“Yuh-huh, the very same. I mean, it was a few years ago, but it’s definitely her.”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “You’re a scoundrel, Ted!”

“You better believe it, sweetheart.”

*****

**Thursday, October 18th – 3:37 pm**

For the first time in perhaps forever, Alice was grateful to go to school in Clivesdale. The principal had decided to end the school week early “in light of recent events”, which meant that she was able to take the bus over to Hatchetfield a whole day earlier than she planned.

It hadn’t been easy, telling her mom that she wanted to move in with her Dad. There were tears, arguments, apologies, all of which Alice had expected and tried her best to prepare for, and yet it was still a lot harder than she thought it would be. And on top of that, after everything, she still didn’t get her wish; her mom had pointed out that she couldn’t just move school at the beginning of the year, and that Hatchetfield high probably wasn’t going to accept any new students. Alice reasoned that this was probably a good thing; she wasn’t exactly in a hurry to go back there. In the end, they’d landed on a compromise – Alice would now be allowed to spend weekends in Hatchetfield, as well as half of Christmas break, but she had to stay in Clivesdale for Thanksgiving (which her mom promised she would be allowed to invite Deb to). Alice agreed, figuring it was probably the best deal she was likely to get. However, Alice had stipulated that she be allowed to tell her Dad.

So there she found herself, knees bouncing uncontrollably as the bus crossed the bridge into Hatchetfield. Her phone buzzed in her hands – a text from Deb.

_“what’s taking you so long???”_

It was difficult to type with her shaking fingers, but eventually Alice managed to form a coherent response.

_“uh, the speed limit I guess? Lol.”_

_“well hurry uppppp!”_

_“absolutely, 100% will do, my bad.”_

Deb replied only with a picture of her own middle finger. Alice smiled as she replied.

_"ily2"_

_"jk, love u"_

Just a couple more minutes to go. Alice wondered what her Dad would say. They had toyed with the idea of going to surprise him at work, but she hated the thought of interrupting something important, so in the end they decided that Alice would just be there to surprise him when he got home. His shift didn’t finish until 5, which meant they’d have a good hour together before Deb would need to leave. They’d arranged to meet at Starbucks for a sort-of-date, figuring they should make the most of their time when Deb pointed out she should probably spend the weekend entirely with her Dad, at least for this first time.

As the bus pulled up to the stop, however, Alice looked out of the window and gasped, realising the plan had been altered. Deb was standing on the sidewalk, shaking with laughter as she filmed what must have been the shock on Alice’s face. As soon as the doors opened she grabbed her rucksack and ran off the bus, straight into Deb’s arms. Alice felt her feet lift off the ground as her girlfriend twirled her, getting slightly lightheaded in the process.

“Babe, what are you doing here!?” Alice squealed in excitement. Deb’s hand cupped the back of her neck as she pulled her in for a kiss. Alice couldn’t help but blush, suddenly recollecting the rest of the world moving around them. Their lips parted, and Deb planted another quick peck on Alice’s forehead before wrapping her arm around her shoulders.

“C’mon, you really think I was just gonna sit and wait? We haven’t got long, and I really missed you, babe.” Alice placed her arm around Deb’s waist and gave her a side-hug as they walked.

“I missed you too.”

The walk to Starbucks was peaceful, all except from when Deb tried to push Alice over into a large pile of leaves. After a struggle, they both fell down, and once they’d finished laughing they called it even.

When they got to Starbucks it was relatively quiet, so as Deb ordered their drinks, Alice went off to claim a couple of armchairs tucked away in the corner, a nice, secluded spot, before the place had a chance to fill up. Deb joined her a couple of minutes later, handing her a drink.

“Got you an iced caramel frappe, that’s your go-to, right? They were out of pumpkin spice, which I think is bullshit, I think the server was just being judgemental.”

“It’s perfect – thanks, babe.” She took a sip, wincing a little as the freezing liquid grazed her teeth. “What’d you get?”

“Americano. Jesus, I don’t get how you can take so much sugar in just one drink.”

“Blame uncle Paul, he’s the one that introduced me to them, Dad too - _he_ loves them.”

“Right. Hey, have you heard anything about him? Since…”

Alice shrugged. “Dad hasn’t said much, other than he seems a little worn, but I think everyone’s like that.” She thought back to that staticky recording they were shown of them singing. “How’s B? She doing okay? She didn’t make it to the debriefing, was she just not invited, or…?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s doing fine. She was just baked when they went to get her that morning.” Alice frowned. Since when was B in the smoke club? Deb recognised her confusion and bridged the gap for her. “She hooked up with Danny, he told me yesterday.” Alice’s jaw dropped slightly. “I know, right? Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new member of the smoke club.”

She nodded, not really knowing how to respond. “How’s… all that going by the way? Are you guys still fighting?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry, we’re cool. And hey, they won’t be bothering you about it again, I’ve made it clear that it’s your choice.” Deb held her hand open on the table and Alice scooped it up with both of hers, rubbing her thumbs in small circles on its back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They caught each other’s eyes and smiled. 

The rest of the sort-of-date passed in a conventional manner, filled with jokes and flirting and a delightfully cosy atmosphere; it was immensely difficult for Alice to pull herself out of her chair at the end of it. They dragged out the walk home as long as possible, a fortunate possibility as they had plenty of time left to spare. 

The kiss goodbye was different to any of the others they’d stolen over the couple of hours they’d spent together. It was somehow safer, as if each of them were making a promise they were sure of. It was more intimate, in a secure, restful kind of way. They smiled in unison, and deb tucked a soft wisp of hair behind Alice’s ear as they whispered goodbye. She stood in front of the door and watched Deb leave, not moving until she had completely left her sight. Only then did she go inside, her cheeks still crimson. 

When Bill walked in 14 minutes later, Alice stayed hidden behind the door of the sitting room for a moment. She could distinctly make out the sound of keys being dropped in the ceramic bowl by the door, and of shoes being kicked off and then straightened. The next sound she understood was a soft but sudden inhale, which she hoped meant that her Dad had clocked her backpack, strategically placed on the bottom step of the stairs. A split-second of silence ensued, followed by a hesitant “Alice?”, called in her Dad’s shaky voice. She only waited a beat before she stepped into view.

Alice could tell by his face that he was too shocked even to hug her. She couldn’t contain the jubilant smile that ached to make itself known. He lifted his arms up slightly with care, as if he worried she might disappear if he moved too fast.

“Alice… how…?”

“I really did want to live with you.”

Noiseless tears dripped down Bill’s cheeks as he finally broke from his frozen state and near enough staggered over to his daughter, clutching her to his chest in the same spot they had shared a similar embrace only five days ago. 

“It’s only for the weekends, and for Christmas.” She near enough choked her words out as she fought against the tightness in her throat, tears of her own slipping free unchecked. “I have to be back in Clivesdale for Thanksgiving, and mom says we'll figure out the rest some other time.”

“She knows you’re here?” he sobbed into her hair.

“Of course, she said she’d call you tomorrow to sort out an official agreement, but she said I could be the one to tell you.”

“And what about school?”

“They closed early, I’m not in until Monday.”

Bill sniffed and placed a hand on each of his daughter’s shoulders, holding her at an arm’s length so he could see her properly. “Oh, I’m just so glad to see you, I thought you wouldn’t be back for another _month!”_ He wiped a couple of tears away with the back of his hand. “Is Deb here too?” He glanced over to the doorway, but to Alice’s relief, his face maintained its joyful expression.

“No, no she went home, she met me off the bus. We agreed to wait until next weekend to meet.”

“Oh Alice, you don’t have to do that. If you want to see her that’s okay-“

“-Dad, I want to spend time with _you.”_ She placed a hand on the side of her Dad’s face. “Yeah?”

“Okay, sweetie. But hey, what about tomorrow, when I’m at work? She’ll be in school, are you gonna be alright here by yourself?”

“Don’t worry, I brought a couple of textbooks, I’ll just get some studying done.” It wouldn’t be a good idea to mention that Deb would probably just skip school.

“Well then maybe on Sunday? You could have her over when I’m at church if you want?”

She chuckled. It was so touching, how much he wanted to prove he supported her. “Sounds great.”

Something shifted, in that moment. An understanding passed between them without words.

Bill kissed Alice’s forehead, and started to sing.

_“…I’d fallen through the floor again, crashed into the basement, the pain was swallowing me. I was like a lead balloon, I couldn’t even get up to turn the lights on, the dark was swallowing me...”_

Alice smiled as the sweetness of his verse before singing her own.

_“…Lord knows you can’t trust your head when you’re standing on the edge of breaking down. Lord knows you can’t trust your head when you’re hanging by a thread, I was breaking down, and I saw-“_

They joined hands before erupting into a harmony.

_“-Only two footprints in the sand, thought you’d abandoned me and let go of my hand; but you were carrying me, carrying me to safety, two footprints – your footprints – in the sand...”_

Alice led the next verse, pulling him back in for a hug. 

_“…Oh, but I forgot the things I knew, it was I who abandoned you. Forgive me, I was lost in doubt. You had never left my side, you picked me up when I thought I would die, you held me and I was found…”_

They sang the rest of the song together, father and daughter, finally on the same page.

_“…Lord knows you can’t trust your head when you’re standing on the edge of breaking down. Lord knows you can’t trust your head when you’re hanging by a thread, I was breaking down, and I saw: Only two footprints in the sand, thought you’d abandoned me and let go of my hand; but you were carrying me, carrying me to safety, two footprints – your footprints – in the sand...”_

By the time the song finished, both had managed to dry their tears. After one more hug, Bill had a thought.

“Well I was just going to have some leftovers for dinner, but now I feel like we ought to have something special – you fancy anything?”

“Well… we never _did_ go to Red Lobster…”

*****

**Friday, October 19th – 6 pm**

Emma ripped off her apron and threw herself down on the coach. She was supposed to have worked a later shift after going to a lecture that took place that morning, but she skipped it and told Nora that she could work in the morning too. She hadn’t been needed in the evening though, as there were too few customers to justify it, so she was home earlier than usual.

That’s how it had been all week. Working as much as possible throughout the day, catching up on studying in the evening – great for the business seeing as how people were slowly returning (even if it was still slow), and great for Emma having something to do (even if the work sucked). Her classwork was all available online anyway, so technically she’d never _needed_ to turn up in the first place, it’s just that now she had a very good reason to avoid it.

All she wanted was her degree. Get that, and get out. Although…

She knew getting out wouldn’t change anything. That’s what Emma had spent most of the last week thinking about. She’d never found what she was looking for when she was running. Would being somewhere else really fix her life? More than anything, what she really wanted, after all these years of trying, failing and most importantly, giving up, was to live up to what Jane had been.

Jane. The capable one. The content one. The one who got it right every time. She knew what she wanted out of life and she got it. Well, until the day it was taken from her.

That was what Emma had been thinking over. Jane had a family, Jane _made_ a family, one she loved. And they lost her too. If Emma was going to leave, there was something she had to do first; what Jane would’ve done.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and stared at it. Memories of the funeral flashed across her mind. She was still pissed. _Jane would’ve understood_ , she reminded herself, _Jane wouldn’t hold a grudge like this. He was upset, he was grieving, that’s all._

That was the first time she’d cried in front of another person since she was a kid, and it wasn’t even for one of the many normal, acceptable reasons people cry at funerals. She brought up Tom Houston’s contact on her phone. _What a bitch._ Emma hovered her finger over the dial button. _This needs to be done._

 _It can wait._

Emma threw her phone down on the couch beside her. _Besides, I’m not going anywhere just yet_.

She grabbed one of her textbooks of the floor and flicked to the chapter she knew was covered in the lecture, hoping to get a basic understanding before studying it properly. Emma was sat curled around her book for twenty minutes before a light knock at her door beckoned her attention. She waited for a second knock but none came. Reluctantly, she slid off the couch, pulled on her hoodie and answered it.

The hallway was empty. Had they walked off? She looked up and down the corridor to check, but there was no one in sight. Sincerely hoping she hadn’t imagined it, Emma was halfway through closing the door again when she noticed the large reusable bag sitting on the floor in front of it. It was a shopping bag, and through the top she could see it had been filled to the brim with groceries, on top of which a folded piece of paper had been balanced. She knelt down beside it and picked up the paper. Her name was scribbled on the outside. Unfolding it, Emma read the note.

> _Dear Emma,_
> 
> _I’m not expecting you to forgive me, but you haven’t been showing up to class and I want to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. I felt that this gesture would also be a good way to express my own gratitude to the service you provided me a few short months ago, a kindness I both haven’t forgotten and didn’t deserve. I’ve included all the bare essentials, some of which will need to be refrigerated. I won’t make you see me in person though, so I hope you’re in your apartment when I drop this off, else you will return home to a bag of soiled food, which is never a pleasant experience._
> 
> _Not a moment passes wherein I don’t regret my actions, Emma. They were selfish and harmful, and I am truly, truly sorry. Take all the time you need. If you wish, I could even request that you be moved to another biology class, so you wouldn’t have to get the work off of that infernal website, but I shall leave it up to you to decide._
> 
> _As a final note, I wish you luck in your endeavours, and I hope and pray that you come into the good fortune you deserve._
> 
> _Take care of yourself, Emma,_
> 
> _Professor Henry Hidgens_
> 
> _P.S. I thoroughly enjoyed your paper on the identification of Dikarya and the distinction between the subdivisions Ascomycota and Basidiomycota, and seeing as you never came in to receive your grade, I thought I would take this opportunity to tell you: A-_

Emma folded the note carefully and placed it back inside the bag. She stayed kneeling for a second, quickly sweeping away the rogue tear that dared to fall down the side of her nose. It was a struggle to get the bag inside her apartment as it was too heavy to lift, so instead Emma settled for simply dragging it inside by the handles.

It took a long while for her to unpack everything, and it actually shocked her to realise just how little food she kept in the apartment. It was also difficult to decide where everything should be kept. Things like eggs and milk were easy, the packet of active dry yeast was not (Emma began to seriously wonder where the professor got his understanding of the phrase ‘bare essentials’). When she was done, she stood back to admire her handiwork. She felt warm, _loved_ , even. She was still wary of the professor, but this… this was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.

Emma sighed and looked back at her phone, still lying where she’d chucked it.

_Fine._

She closed the cupboards before walking back to the couch and picking it up. When she turned it on, Tom’s contact was still on the screen. She hit dial, raised the phone to her ear and waited.

It answered on the fifth ring.

_"What?"_

Off to a solid start. Emma took a deep breath.

“Hey Tom, it’s me.”

_“Who?”_

“It’s Emma.” _Y’know, your sister-in-law, the one you yelled at to the point of tears and kicked out of a funeral, that Emma._

“ _Oh_.” The line went silent for a moment. _“Well? What do you want?”_ His tone was hostile. Emma couldn’t help matching it.

“I don’t _want_ anything, I just-“

_“Look, I’ve got a lot going on right now, so if you could get to the point that’d be great.”_

Emma had to bite her tongue. _Stay calm. Relax. Be nice._

“I want to see Tim.”

_"Tim?"_

“Yeah, Tim, my _nephew?”_ Another moment of silence passed. Emma didn’t bother waiting for Tom to talk again. “In fact, I want to see both of you. The last week has been kinda weird, and I wanted to make sure you guys were doing okay.” _Yeah, that sounds like something Jane would want._

_“Oh, of course you only make contact after a catastrophe, that’s just like you, isn’t it?”_

_Keep it friendly_. “Is Tim okay?” 

_“Yeah, Tim’s fine. We kept out of the action, the water got us. We didn’t even realise until we woke up again.”_

“Oh, well that’s good. I’m glad you’re both okay.” More silence. “So… is that a yes?”

_"To what?"_

_Oh my God._ “To seeing you guys? I was thinking this weekend we could-“

_“You know what, I don’t think so, we’re both kinda busy at the moment. I’ll give you a call if we’re ever free.”_

That felt like a lie. “Oh, okay, sure.” She was going to say something else, but she pulled the phone away from her ear for a moment to see that he’d already hung up.

_Asshole._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P1:Of course I'm making Covid parallels, and I couldn't help throwing in a SAF reference too  
> P2:Can you tell I hate Sam?  
> P3:Yeah, I had to reference that tumblr post because I saw it made into a Goldstein meme, but I don't know who by, and then Venus, Please! just made sense. I just HAD to include Linda. I wonder why she was there, though  
> P4:I have no idea how people talk when texting. And yeah, I suddenly remembered that this was a musical. I thought a song would work well for that moment but it was hard finding one with applicable lyrics, so I ended up using Footprints by Sia, and OMG can you imagine Mariah and Corey singing a duet?!  
> P5:These are 2 scenarios I've wanted to write for a while, so I thought I'd combine them. Starkid has emphasised that Hidgens is a villain which is why I wrote about people hating him, but I figured he'd have to earn back some trust for Emma to suggest they go there at the end of Black Friday. And as much as I love Tom Houston, he's a pre-character arc asshole. I'll probably write more about the funeral and about Emma's childhood at some point


	10. Paul Matthews is Completely Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul Matthews leads a simple life. He wears the same clothes to work every day, buys the same cup of coffee on his break every day and writes film reviews on his blog every weekend.  
> Paul Matthews is happy. Nothing is missing from his carefully timetabled existence. Except, sometimes, everything...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : Contains **graphic violence/elements of non-con** in the first section, set apart in blockquotes and italics. It has **no impact on the plot** , it's only a nightmare, so don't hesitate to skip. Every now and then I allow myself to write something awful, that's all.  
> This one's loosely inspired by Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine by Gail Honeyman, it's one of my favourite books and I definitely recommend, but it deals with a lot of sensitive topics.

> _It was a storm, a ferocious, unstoppable monster that flooded the sky with its hateful power. It seemed to press the air downwards until even open spaces were dense and claustrophobic. It was fighting a violent war with itself, and Hatchetfield was facing the consequences. Paul had been to Beanies, and had stepped back out onto the street when in a barbarous flash, lightning ripped through the side of the building behind him, scattering rubble across the street and fuelling the chaos around him. He had lifted his arms to shield his eyes from the blast, but now let them fall limp by his sides as he stared at the devastation. His eyes scoured the wreck, looking for any sign of her they could. He had only just seen her, smiling, confident as ever, and now she was in there, either crushed or being burned alive. He tried to scream her name, but he had no voice._
> 
> _Just then he caught sight of her, running at him, having escaped through the staff entrance off to the side. Relief swelled through him to the point that he barely registered the fear in her eyes, or the panic in her movements. He watched her grab hold of his wrist, but he was numb to the sensation. He felt his body running and didn’t register that it must have been his own decision to do so._
> 
> _They ran, dodging the barrage of lightning strikes that tried relentlessly to stop them. Eventually, they made it to a small cluster of trashcans in an alleyway, where Emma grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him to the ground to hide behind them. Her mouth moved and her faced relaxed, and it took Paul a moment to realise not only that she had spoken, but that he was deaf. He tried to grab his ears but his arms disobeyed. When they did move, they instead found their way to Emma’s neck. He watched as his own thumb stroked the edge of her jaw without his permission. She lifted a hand to his face in response and again, he felt nothing. He would’ve tried to pull away, to see if he could, but the look she gave him was tender and warm, and it took up all his attention. He didn’t even think to fight when she moved in to kiss him, but the satisfaction of the contact that he anticipated also didn’t come. Something was very, very wrong._
> 
> _The first thing that broke through the vail of numbness was the taste of blood. Hot and acrid, it filled his mouth to the point of choking, but even the act of spluttering was a privilege he apparently was to be denied. Instead, he was to watch as Emma pulled away from him like a scalded cat, her lip gushing blood from where he’d bitten it. She took her hands off his face and placed one of them beneath the bite mark, before holding it up to examine it. Her expression changed from confused to outraged, and he watched her mouth form demands he couldn’t hear. When he didn’t respond, she tried to shake his hands off her neck but his fingers wouldn’t budge. Her expression changed again, back into the contortion of horror he recognised from outside Beanies._
> 
> _He willed himself away from her, fought against his body with all of his strength, but it was in vain. She was struggling now too, but his hands had formed a vice around her neck, one that she clawed at but still couldn’t budge._
> 
> _His next act made him want to vomit. He stood up, dragging Emma with him by the neck, and held her a foot off the ground by her throat, before throwing her into the brick wall behind her. She fell to the ground and slumped to the side. A patch of blood stained the wall where her head had hit it; it was objectively small, but for all Paul cared it was the size of a planet. He looked down at her, fearing the worst. Relief washed over him a second time as he saw that she was still alive, merely dazed. He felt himself crouching down, forgetting that this action was a bad sign because of how natural it felt. He remembered eventually, though._
> 
> _He remembered very suddenly, in fact. His hand snatching up her wrist reminding him. He dragged her away from the wall and into the middle of the alleyway. She was almost completely limp and didn’t protest much, even though she was being chucked around carelessly like a ragdoll._
> 
> _Paul thought his anger, his dread, his_ disgust _at what he was being forced to do had reached his peak. He was wrong. He got down to his knees and straddled her, pinning her legs to the floor, and grabbed her wrists. Alertness flickered back into her eyes, and she started thrashing beneath him. She was too weak, she’d never fight him off._
> 
> _He forced her hands above her head and held them, one-handed, as he stooped down to kiss her neck. She jolted her head to the side to push him away, eyes glistening with rage. His free hand groped at her chest. Tears slipped down her temples. If there was a hell, it had found him._
> 
> _His hands found their way back to her throat, only this time his thumbs pressed down hard against a ridge on her windpipe. Her fists pounded against his arms, too short to reach his face. Her mouth formed words he could just about make out. He recognised his own name scattered within a stream of pleading._
> 
> _Her skin turned red first, and then purple. The whites of her eyes were also painted vibrant with blood as the vessels cracked under the pressure. Her arms grew clumsy. She stopped speaking. Her body went limp._
> 
> _Emma Perkins was lying dead beneath him._

*****

Paul shot up and clutched at his duvet, gasping for breath. His eyes searched his bedroom frantically as he tried to make sense of where he was. No alleyway. No storm. No Emma.

He could hear. He could move. He could feel.

He was okay.

Well, no, he was pretty far from okay, but this reality was infinitely favourable to the one he just escaped. Paul kicked back his sweat soaked sheets and twisted himself to look at his alarm clock. 4:09 AM.

Not bothering to wait until he caught his breath, he climbed out of bed and walked on shaking legs to the bathroom, pulling off his pyjamas and dumping them on the floor as he walked. There was no sense trying to sleep again, and a shower seemed like a sensible way to calm himself down after all that.

The nightmares had become a new, unwelcome part of his routine. He had woken a similar time each day of the week. On days that he worked (all of them, so far) this had been less of an issue; all he had to do was take a little longer than usual to get ready, and the rest of the day could be allowed to pass as it always did. However, it was now the weekend. He would usually sleep in until about ten, meaning he would have an extra six hours, twelve in total, that he didn’t know how to fill. He deliberated this as the hot water rolled over his body, seeping into his skin and loosening his muscles. He had shopping to do, and he usually did the housework on a Sunday, and the rest of his time was usually left open for making plans. Failing that, he made a small hobby out of writing film reviews on a blog, and Bill had made a list of recommendations a short while ago that he was still working through.

It felt empty, that list. He’d found his routine comfortable and reassuring before, but this intrusive alteration left him on edge to the point that he didn’t know if he’d be able to nestle into it again. He switched off the water and reached for his towel. There was only one way to find out, and that was to try.

*****

At half four in the afternoon, Paul was struggling his way back through his front door, carrying two bags of groceries in one hand and an iced caramel frappe in the other. That was his tradition after the weekly shop, and he’d usually drink it as he unpacked what he’d bought.

The morning had been busy enough. He’d ended up watching two films on Bill’s list, Capricorn One (a 70’s movie about a faked Mars landing) and The Last Jedi (He’d seen The Force Awakens and just never got around to the second one). He’d picked them because both were well over two hours long, and with a short gap between, they filled the time until his outing rather neatly. He’d made some rough notes on what he thought, characters he liked, whether the story fit together well, continuity errors, visual effects, whatever he could think of, all ready to write the reviews once he returned home. He thought the first film was brilliant, if a bit slow at times, and he liked the second, but he’d already decided to title his review “A hundred things wrong with The Last Jedi”, because the fact that he enjoyed it didn’t mean there weren’t a hundred things wrong with it.

As last, he sat down at his desk and opened up his laptop, notebook beside it. He was typing for a good half an hour when he stopped and leaned back in his chair. Was the house always this quiet? He stared at the inoffensive wallpaper that had been there since before he’d moved in. The silence around him didn’t hurt, it didn’t make him feel lost or alone (well, not to his knowledge at least), but it felt stagnant. Like he wanted to fill it with something, the way flowers fill an empty vase. Like he wanted to sing…

Paul sat forward and continued typing.

*****

Another nightmare. Paul slumped back against the headboard and shut his eyes, rubbing them with the back of his hand. That one had felt different. 

Mercifully, it was a little later than usual – 5:47 AM – so Paul had at least had a half decent amount of sleep before being woken up.

He could think of no reason to leave the house that day. There was nowhere to go, no one to see. Everyone he knew was busy.

He had been thrilled to hear that Bill had Alice for the weekend, partially because the chief of their conversations involved her in some way, and it always ended in Bill putting himself out of spirits which always hurt to see. He’d never been good at the whole emotional support side of friendship, but Bill still seemed to thank him for his “help”, even though he never actually did anything. He sometimes wondered why Bill was friends with him, the man was a lot nicer than him and probably deserved someone better. Then again, if the only other option for a best friend was Ted, it made more sense. Ted was great for parties, absolutely horrible for anything else. Paul didn’t even try to imagine Ted giving heartfelt advice.

Paul dragged himself out of bed, only to sit on the edge debating whether or not he should actually stand. The world would keep moving if he stayed still. Time wouldn’t stop if his house was left messy. He shut his eyes and squeezed his temples. The visions of pain his mind had conjured up the night before reappeared, making his heart falter. It had been too real, to the point that it was no longer obvious upon waking that it had just been a dream. The room, the people, the blood. He’d recognised all of it. Emma, on the table, only this time wide-awake and very much in pain.

It was impossible to dismiss. It didn’t matter that he had been dreaming. His eyes had seen that happen before whether he was conscious or not. It wasn’t just some phantom-Emma this time, one that his mind created to expose his own fears to him. It was her, _really_ her, and she remembered it too.

Paul started making the bed.

*****

Paul was lying on the floor. He wasn’t quite sure how he got there, just that one moment he was folding laundry, and the next he was staring at his own ceiling. A quite part of him pointed out that this probably wasn’t normal behaviour, but there was no one around to see him, so he didn’t care.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there for until his phone started buzzing. The ringtone was weird (he hadn’t got around to changing it since he bought it earlier in the week) so he almost didn’t recognise what the noise meant. He pulled it out of his pocket without getting up. It was an unknown caller. He answered it.

“Hello?”

_“Hey, buddy, it’s Ted, I got your new number off Bill. Listen, I need a favour, you busy?”_

“Yeah, but I’m sure I could spare some time.”

_“Okay great, we’ll be over in a minute, I owe you one!”_

“Wait, wha-“ The line went dead.

Apparently Paul would be having guests. He lifted himself off the floor and stretched, then bent down to pick up the laundry basket before shoving it in the cupboard under the stairs. He looked around the front room. It was… passably clean. He went into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water before placing it on the stove ready.

Five minutes later, a loud banging called him to answer the door. Swinging it open, Paul was confronted with Ted, rubbing the shoulders of a snivelling Charlotte.

“Hey, thanks for this, I wasn’t really sure what to do.” For the first time since Paul met him, Ted seemed to be taking things seriously.

“No problem,” he replied hesitantly. His heart went out to Charlotte, but he had no idea what was happening and that made it a little difficult to think of what to say. Instead of talking, he opted to step back and gesture them inside.

“Charlotte?” He waited to see if she would acknowledge him. She made a high-pitched noise which he assumed was intended as a response. “Charlotte, why don’t you sit down for a minute while I make some tea, okay?” She said nothing, but nodded slightly and moved slowly over to the couch, her whole body quaking as tears streamed across her puffy red face. He picked up the tissue box and placed it in front of her, then patted Ted on the shoulder, signalling for him to follow.

When they made it to the kitchen, Ted was the first to speak.

“It wasn’t me, I swear.”

 _Uh… okay…_ “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Ted took a deep breath and leaned against the counter. “So, y’know Charlotte’s tryna divorce Sam, yeah?” Paul nodded. “Well, to do that, she’s gotta get him to sign this contract-thing to, like, formally acknowledge their separation or whatever. So she went over there this morning, I offered to take her, she said no, fine. Well, she comes back, and it’s just been this. Crying. She hasn’t said a word.”

Paul automatically assumed the worst. “Oh my God, do you think he _hurt_ her?”

“Nah, I asked her that, she shook her head. I was gonna take her to Bill but he’s with Alice, and I figured, hey, who do I know that sits around at home all weekend?” Paul shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“So what do you think happened, did he refuse to sign or something?”

“Looks like it. Man, that guy sucks, amirite?” Ted lowered his voice a little. “Look, I’m not so good with crying people, so y’know, I thought I’d take her to someone who could talk some sense.”

Paul turned to make the drinks. Ted being considerate? That was a lot to unpack. Sure, he was still delegating, but he actually seemed to care. That being said, Paul wasn’t convinced that he was a suitable candidate for this sort of thing.

When they carried the drinks back into the living area, Charlotte had calmed down enough to speak, even though all she said was a soft “thank you” as Ted handed her a mug. Paul looked at him briefly, receiving a vaguely encouraging thumbs-up.

After a sip of his tea, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Uh… Charlotte?”

She needed no other invitation. “Oh, heavens to Betsy, what’ll I do?” She broke out in another fit of sobs and covered her mouth with her tissue.

“So, he didn’t sign the contract?” It seemed like a safe bet.

“He-he said he couldn't just let me go, and-and that he thought I was stronger than that. He told me a-a divorce would ruin his career, and that I-I was just being selfish!”

“Bullshit!” Ted cried. Paul winced and waited for Charlotte to take a sip from her mug before he spoke again.

“Surely there’s another way to get a divorce, right? What did your lawyer say? You hired Goldstein, right? He’s a good guy, surely he said there was something?”

Charlotte thought back. “He said if he didn’t sign, we would have to be separated for six months to file for one – oh, where am I supposed to go for six months? I-I need to start looking for somewhere else to live, and I-I’m not sure how! And then there’s all my things back at the house, oh I don’t know if I can go back there! What am I to do?” She leant forward and sunk her head onto Paul’s shoulder as she cried. He patted her shoulders gently. Ted frowned.

“Why can’t you just stay with me?”

Charlotte sat back up and sniffed. “Wh-bu-Ted…we-we agreed this was just temporary, surely you can’t be expected to… that is, you’ve been kind enough, really it wouldn’t be _fair_ to ask that of you!”

Ted covered his face with his hands and inhaled. When he lowered his arms, his eyes had grown tired. “Look, you guys… I know I’m an ass, believe me. It’s who I am and I’m proud of it, I don’t see the point in just being nice for the sake of it, it’s a waste of time. But… but I didn’t… I don’t _want_ to be the bad guy, there, I said it.” He stood up and walked a couple of steps away from them. “Those things I said and did, they weren’t right. I even made a promise to be better, and right away I fucked it up! For once, I wanna do one fuckin’ thing that’s good, and Charlotte?-” he knelt in front of her and took her hands, “-Charlotte, you deserve better than that _fuck-head_. I want to help, if I can.”

Paul was speechless. Charlotte took one hand out of Ted’s and used it to smooth the skin of his cheek.

“Oh, Ted.” She pulled him towards her and kissed his forehead. Paul couldn’t help but avert his eyes away from such an intimate moment. When he looked back, the corner of Ted’s eyes had crinkled into a grin. “ _Thank_ you.”

“No problem, doll.” He flicked a curl of her hair in a playful gesture before looking over at Paul. “And _you_ ,” he said, pointing. “Get in here!” Ted stood up and started making his way over to Paul. He tried to protest but before he knew it, Ted had wrapped his arms around him in a vice-like bear-hug. He begrudgingly reciprocated. “Thanks for everything, man!”

“That’s okay, I… literally did nothing.”

“Eh, what are ya talkin’ about? You did great!”

Paul barely heard him. He had been surprised, upon being hugged, just how much he had craved comfort up until this point. He closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace.

“Woah, there buddy, easy!” Ted joked. Charlotte stood up and walked over to them.

“Paul, you’re… are you crying?”

Ted gripped his shoulders and held him back a few inches to see for himself. Paul hadn’t even realised how close his tears had been to the surface all morning. Charlotte stepped closer and placed a concerned hand on his arm.

“What’s wrong?”

He looked at them and crumbled.

“Everything,” he gasped.

*****

There were worse ways to spend an evening, than sharing a meal with friends. Clustered around Bill’s dinner table, the warmth of the gathering filled Paul’s cheeks with a rosy glow – or was it the wine? He sat back, content, and looked around him at the people he was with.

Ted and Charlotte weren’t sure what to do with him, so they ended up going to Bill’s anyway. Turns out, Alice had gone (or rather, been sent) to see Deb, with Bill wanting them back home in time for a family dinner. He looked rather shocked at first, to see all three of them waiting on his doormat, but once he invited them in, he was able to calm Paul down enough to hear what the issue was.

Three hours. Three hours they spent, talking it over. It was a relief, not having to hold everything in anymore. It was also comforting that he wasn’t the only one who cried. Turns out, they’d all felt the same way. Bill talked about Alice and Deb, and about how lost he felt not knowing the right way to show her he cared. Charlotte talked about Sam, and how after years of a neglectful, one-sided love she felt like she was barely able to recognise what she wanted or who she wanted to be. Ted repeated what he’d confessed back at Paul’s, and talked about how disgusted he felt with himself. Paul told them about his nightmares, how real they felt, and how he knew that Emma was out there somewhere, remembering everything, and he didn’t even know if there was someone there to comfort her. 

When Alice had strolled in, arm-in-arm with Deb, all they could do was giggle at their shocked faces. After a brief explanation, Bill made a comment about not having enough food to go around and announced that they were all staying for take-out whether they liked it or not, and asked Deb if she knew anywhere that did vegan food.

Paul almost found it funny. He’d always felt a little apart from these people around him, but now, after going through hell and coming back a battered and broken mess, he’d somehow never felt more like he was where should be. They’d told him they were there for him, and that he wasn’t alone, and all of a sudden it clicked. They really were safe. They’d made it, and even if things were a mess, they’d been given a second chance, and they would have time to pick up the pieces. 

The rest of the night passed in a blur of food, alcohol and laughter. Oddly enough, by the end of it, Paul couldn’t wait for work the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm gonna try and ease off the angst!  
> I'm sorry if the nightmare was too much, but I couldn't help myself, writing nasty things I find really helpful and cathartic.  
> I also felt like I had to pepper in a reference to Jon Matteson's audition at some point, because I just thing it's pure gold.  
> I probably wont be uploading as frequently because all the scenarios I want to write are quite spaced out and I need to think about the best way to bridge them to properly fit TGWDLM and Black Friday into the same time line with as few hiccups as my addled brain can manage.  
> Trying to avoid writing ooc, but by god is it difficult  
> hope you enjoy!


	11. She's your coffee gal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zoey and Emma follow through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would space out my uploading more, but I like to think I've already demonstrated my complete lack of self control.  
> And yeah, I felt bad about chapter 10, and I definitely believe that these characters deserve a break, so here's something a little nicer.  
> I was gonna publish the first section as it's own little chapter, but it just seemed a bit too small, so instead I went for a perspective change.

“Emma?” She’d been staring at the door for a few minutes (Zoey assumed she’d zoned out) which allowed her to take a moment to get into character before placing a bag on the counter and trying to get her attention. Nora was answering a phone call in the office and there were only a couple of customers, so she figured it would be okay – it wouldn’t take her long. “So, my roommate asked me to drop off this bag of clothes at goodwill, but the thing is I’m, like, suuuuper busy after work, so d’you think you could take them for me?”

She half expected Emma to say something snarky, but it became obvious that she just wasn’t in the mood. “Sure, whatever.” She dragged the bag towards herself and placed it on the shelf behind the counter. The bell on the door rang as a customer walked out, and Emma snapped her head up at the sound, before lowering her gaze to her own hands sheepishly. Zoey wiped the counter nonchalantly for a second, then put on her best casual idea-face.

“Y’know what? I think you’re about the same size as my roommate.” She shrugged and looked away. “Maybe you could see if anything in there suits you before taking it.” Emma glanced down at the bag.

“Uh, yeah, maybe.”

Zoey rolled her eyes. Evidently, this was going to require a little more intervention. “Oh my God, I know what would be cute on you!” She picked up the bag and fished out a woollen hat. “It’s a Beanie – get it?!” Emma gave her a disappointed smirk. “Oh, just try the damn hat.” Reluctantly, she pulled it over her head and checked her reflection in the side of a coffee pot.

“It’s… nice.” Zoey looked away to hide her satisfaction. She hadn’t lied; her roommate _did_ ask her to take that bag to goodwill, and she really _did_ have plans after work. However, she’d also noticed that it was getting colder, and that Emma only ever brought the same flimsy waterproof, which always meant she’d show up in the morning shivering. She also knew enough of Emma’s temper to know she’d never accept charity. Two birds, one stone. _Honestly, they should just give me my Oscar now._

*****

_This is way too overwhelming for a Tuesday._

Emma looked up at the bland office building in front of her and tapped nervously on the to-go cup in her hand. She’d taken an early break, earning her a confused stare from Nora as she left Beanies clutching her jacket and a cup of coffee. It was all her fault, anyway, telling her off for looking at the door so much, asking her “Who are you waiting for?” She’d meant it to be sarcastic no doubt, but the fact that Emma had an answer made her realise something.

 _This is crazy_. She entered the building and approached the front desk. She was about to ask for help when a voice called her name. She scanned her surroundings to find its source – a young woman clutching a clipboard standing in front of the elevator. Emma recognised her from the debriefing, but she couldn’t remember her name. The woman practically skipped over to her, stopping abruptly a couple of feet away.

"Hi, I’m Melissa,” she said, holding out her hand. Emma shook it.

“Hey, I’m Emma, although I uh… guess you knew that.” Melissa nodded apologetically. An awkward silence followed.

Melissa jerked a thumb back in the direction on the elevator. “If you’re here to see Paul, I can take you to him if you want? I just came down to post a bulletin.” She flippantly waved her clipboard.

Emma smiled. Melissa’s casual manner was surprisingly effective at calming her down, as if she could imagine nothing more normal than Emma showing up unannounced. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Okay, just a sec.” She walked over to the far side of the room to stand in front of a cork board. Once Melissa finished pinning up a sheet of paper from her clipboard, she made her way back over to Emma’s side. The slight bounce in her step inexplicably reminded Emma of a golden retriever puppy. “Right this way.”

They stepped inside the elevator, and Emma caught her last glimpse of the street through the main entrance before the doors closed on them. There was definitely no backing out now. This frightened her more than she was prepared to admit. She focused on the coffee in her hand, the warmth seeping into her palm. That’s all she was there for, it was just a cup of coffee. Absolutely nothing to be nervous about.

The doors opened on a mundane office-space, with rows upon rows of identical desks illuminated by the cold lights overhead. The low hum of shuffling paper, idle chit-chat and whirring printers gave Emma a sudden confidence. Everything about that space screamed normal. Then again, she’d hardly ever been able to handle normal before now.

She had almost forgotten Melissa, who stood waiting beside her. Giving her a moment, she realised. How considerate.

“He’s on the second desk on the right, in the section past the water cooler,” she said, pointing in the direction of a separate area of the office.

“Right, thanks.”

Melissa nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” And with that, she bounced off to her own desk.

_Okay._

Emma started to walk forward, immediately considering what would happen if she just turned around and left. Would Paul even hear about it? After all, the only person who knew she was there was that Melissa. Maybe she’d understand and leave it. As she turned the corner, Paul’s workspace became obvious at the sight of his friend – Bill? – standing up beside him, talking. Paul was facing away from Emma, meaning all she could see of him was the back of his head, but it floored her completely. _What the actual fuck am I gonna say?_

Bill looked up as he was talking and spotted Emma, who gave him an uncomfortable wave. To her relief, he quickly supressed his surprise at seeing her, and rather than give her away, he simply nodded at Paul, patted his shoulder and returned to his own desk. Paul’s eyes followed him as he left, allowing Emma to see his face for the first time in over a week. He looked exactly the way she remembered him, right down to the quizzical stare he gave his friend. He seemed happy. Normal, everyday Paul, sitting at a desk that she reckoned was as familiar to him as his own home. An image popped into her head of him dressed casually, relaxed and informal. It felt like something she’d have to see to believe, given how literally the only thing she’d ever seen him wear was a suit – not that he didn’t look good in it, though. Unfortunately, Emma had entered his line of sight, and there was no way to avoid him noticing her now.

His eyes widened as he clocked her, cheeks flushing instantly. She snapped out of her reverie. He may have looked normal, but she couldn’t let herself forget that this was still a delicate situation. She had worried that this sort of recollection would bring back her fear. It did sting, now that she was thinking about it. He had _seemed_ normal then, and that had ended horribly. But looking at him just now only reminded her of what he was like when she first met him, an awkward yet funny customer. Looking at him now reminded her more of what he was like in the debriefing. Those eyes, staring at her with an anguished desperation – it became very obvious that he had been struggling too.

He stood up slowly and took a cautious step towards her, but he didn’t move any closer, as if he’d stopped himself upon some recollection of self. Trying not to frighten her. She decided to close the distance for him, and put her foot forward to do so, but she noticed that standing only a few feet away, watching them, was Ted. He was frozen in place, a hand holding a pastry poised to his lips and a moustache caked in icing sugar. When Emma looked at him, he waggled his eyebrows. Charlotte came up behind him and ushered him back to his desk.

When Emma looked back at Paul, she caught him staring at her with concern, and he averted his gaze apologetically. She rocked back on her heel and looked around the office. There had to be somewhere they could talk without getting stared at. 

In the meantime, Emma figured their current distance might facilitate a mundane conversation. If they stood still any longer it would get weird, and at least that way she could break the ice. She held up the cup in her hand.

“Thought you might like a coffee. I mean, you don’t have to drink it, this stuff is nasty, but I just thought…” Rather than continue, she held it out to him.

“Oh, right, uh,” Paul stuttered. He walked forward to collect it, unconsciously straightening his tie on the way. He was careful not to touch her fingertips as he took it from her. “Thanks.” He took a sip. “I mean, any coffee is better than no coffee, so… yeah…”

Emma drew a blank. She had absolutely no clue where to go from here… other than back to Beanies. That didn’t seem like a terrible idea, come to think of it. She did what she set out to do, and she didn’t really know what she wanted in the first place, other than to see him again. He must have sensed her struggle, as he asked her if she was okay in a soft, attentive voice.

“Yeah, I just…” she looked down at her shoes. “Y’know what, I think I should probably get back before Nora fires me.”

“Well hey, I was just about to take my break… would it be okay if I were to walk you back?” She looked up at him. It was more than just a suggestion, it was a genuine question. He really was worried about scaring her.

“Yeah, sure.” She punctuated her response with a smile, hoping to convince him that yes, it really _was_ okay. He seemed pleased by this. They walked, side by side, back around the corner to the main office space. Paul pressed the button for the elevator and stepped aside to let her walk in first.

*****

Neither of them felt capable of confronting any serious topic for the majority of the walk. They instead stuck to the simple stuff: _How is work? How your friends doing? Are Ted and Charlotte banging?_ Paul had let out an accidental snort when Emma asked that one, putting her in a fit of giggles too. He went on to explain the whole divorce-situation, and about how they’d turned up at his house during the weekend. He looked as if there was something else he wanted to say, but he stopped himself.

As they made their way down the bustling high street, a sharp gust of wind blustered along the pavement. Emma grabbed the open sides of her jacket and pulled them around herself. She had to admit, she’d found some pretty good clothes in the bag Zoey had given her, good enough to suspect it of being more than just an errand. Well, Zoey was still pretty self-absorbed, and her constant sucking up to Nora got on Emma’s nerves, but if this was the case, she had to admit it was kind of touching.

At the same time, a stack of paper blew out of the arms of a woman standing a few feet away from them, with the sheets ending up scattered across the sidewalk. Paul and Emma bent down to help gather them up, but when they handed them back to the woman, Emma recognised her. She worked with Greenpeace, and she could’ve sworn she was that woman who sang at Paul in the first clip they were shown a little over a week ago.

She accepted the sheets with a curt nod and turned away. Paul and Emma looked at each other, shrugged, and carried on walking, only for the woman to call for them to wait. After a moment, she looked Paul up and down and said (with what looked like a great deal of difficulty), “I’m sorry. I… misjudged you. You’re alright.”

 _What the fuck is she…?_ Bizarrely, Paul seemed to understand. “That’s okay. Uh… so are you.” And with that, the woman walked off. Paul carried on walking, with a confused Emma a step behind him.

“What the fuck was all that about?”

“Oh, uh, we had a little argument the night that… well, it doesn’t matter.” She wasn’t going to let him drop the subject that easily.

“What was the argument about?”

Paul took a second before answering, perhaps to figure out his wording. “Well, I was leaving work late, and y’know they try to get you to help them to ‘save the planet’, but I just wanted to go home and she wouldn’t let me leave, and she was really _judging_ about it, like, I tried to be nice, but that didn’t work, so-“

“Woah, Paul… you picked a fight with someone from _Greenpeace?”_ Emma couldn’t help but smile incredulously at him. He blushed.

“Well, to be fair, she started it-“

“Wow, Paul, I didn’t realise you were a total piece of shit!” Emma was giggling now, both at what he did and at how genuinely offended he seemed. “Oh, c’mon, I’m just messing with you.” She even ventured to give his arm a playful nudge. The contact seemed to startle him for a moment, but once that dissipated he was able to match her grinning.

Underneath the joking, Emma realised something. She felt a lot better about him knowing that he wasn’t perfect. That was what had made her so hesitant before, the thought of inflicting her baggage on some unsuspecting guy who deserved better. This minor flaw she’d uncovered, it evened them. Not entirely – barely at all, in fact – but it was a start.

Paul thankfully remained oblivious to her epiphany. “Well, y’know what, I think the sea turtles have had it too good for too long. Besides, you’re not all sunshine and rainbows yourself, I’ve seen the way you talk to customers.” She laughed.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?”

“Oh, it’s like that.”

“Well, you’ve also seen the way the _customers_ talk to _me_ , so I think I might just be entitled, but you give me a call the next time the big bad Greenpeace Girl gives you trouble, okay? Then we’ll see who’s worse.”

“You’re on.”

By this time, they’d made it back to Beanies. Paul’s light-heartedness faded, and he shot an anxious glance over her shoulder that she couldn’t quite make out.

“Everything okay there?”

He shook his head. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He paused, finishing his coffee. “Uh, can I ask? Why _did_ you come over today? I take it Beanies is testing out a new kind of delivery service?” 

She smiled. “Uh, no, I just…” She might as well be honest. “I guess I missed you.” The silence they shared was no longer awkward; both understood the need to process that remark. “Yeah, uh, tips have been _really_ low recently,” she added, trying to avoid being too serious.

“Oh, well we can’t have that.” His voice was as jokey and casual as ever, but his eyes had almost grown sad. Emma worried for a moment that she had spoken too soon, and that she’d freaked him out. Oh well, if she had done, she couldn’t exactly un-say it, so she might as well do it thoroughly.

“It’s funny, it kinda felt like something was missing. I kept looking up at the door, and it wasn’t until goddamn _Nora_ told me off that I realised I was waiting for you to walk through it.” _Ugh, okay that might have been a bit much._ Gratuitous or not, it did the trick; Paul’s expression immediately softened. She took the chance to take things a step further. “So, if you’re fed up with all the hipsters over in Starbucks, Beanies is just an extra block away. Oh, and Nora finally got rid of the whole 'tip-for-a-song' thing, it sort of seemed inappropriate after everything.”

“Oh, well in that case I might as well.” His smile faded a little. “Yeah, I… I missed you too. But…” Paul looked away from her, instead focusing his gaze back on the street. He didn’t seem like he was going to continue, so Emma stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. He shrank away from her touch, alarmed, and she backed off. _Shit, I scared him._

He must have recognised the remorse in her eyes, because he reached out to her, only to stop himself a few inches short. He took a deep breath. “Emma… I just want to make sure that you’re really okay with me. Because being near you, I just keep thinking about…” _Oh. OH._ “I just want you to be safe.”

She couldn’t think of a reply, but she couldn’t stay silent, not after that. Taking a risk, she stood up on her tiptoes and threw her arms around his shoulders, placing a hand on the back of his neck. It was a couple of seconds before she felt him put his hands on her back, as his head lowered slightly and he held her closer.

“Paul, I _am_ safe,” she whispered. “And so are you.” He said nothing, but his face nestled deeper into her neck.

The door behind them crashed open, frightening them both. Emma twisted out of the embrace and Paul wrapped his arms around her, pulling her away from the noise. A pissed off Nora had appeared. She snapped her fingers impatiently.

“Will you get your ass back on the clock, already? Jeez, Emma, I don’t pay you for this.” She stomped off back inside. _Well, technically you’re not paying me at_ all _right now._

They stood still for a moment. “You should go,” Paul breathed into her ear. She nodded, and turned back to face him. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She considered shaking his hand, but that didn’t seem like the right thing to do. Instead, she pulled him in for another quick hug before going inside. She stopped in the doorway to watch him leave, at the same time as Paul gave one last glance behind him. They smiled to each other, giving little waves, before reluctantly getting on with the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goddamn _Nora_.  
> And MAMD reference, because that show is disturbing but I still love it


	12. Now, can anyone tell me what foreshadowing is?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This feels like cinema sins "character says they'll never do something they will inevitably end up doing" cliché, or something to that effect.  
> (When reading this fanfic, take a shot every time someone smiles, turns, or takes a sip of/holds out a drink)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, because there were a few things I wanted to put into the same one and I didn't want to end up writing a really long one, so here's some mid-week paulkins, hope you enjoy!

“Off to see the Latte-Hottay, huh?” Ted’s hand crashing down on Paul’s shoulder out of nowhere as he made his way to the elevator scared him, to the point that he only narrowly avoided tripping over a fake plant.

Normally he’d never try and pursue any form of conversation with Ted when he was in one of his jokey moods, but it wasn’t like him to be inconsistent with his teasing. “I thought you said it wasn’t her?”

“Eh, I figured ‘crabby barista’ doesn’t embarrass you enough.” _Right._

“See you later, Ted.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, using his grip on Paul’s shoulder to keep him where he was. “You gonna be bringing her to the Halloween party?” Paul couldn’t imagine anything worse. Every year, CCRP set aside a small budget to throw the most pathetic, corporately festive parties, complete with tacky decorations, cold and tasteless nibbles and a two-drink limit. Maybe this would be okay if it were held in some bar, but no – they were expected to remain in the office an extra six hours after work for some luke-warm fun involving your boss breathing down the back of your neck all evening and staying behind to clean everything up. Sure, spending an evening hanging out with Emma could be fun, but when you factor in how little time they’d spent together, the lifeless atmosphere, and… Ted… bringing Emma along was bound to be a recipe for disaster. He just got her back – he wasn’t taking any risks.

“Uh, no, I’m sure she’ll be busy, but I’ll check.” _No I won’t._

“Hey man, suit yourself.” Ted shrugged and, mercifully, returned to his desk.

*****

“What, no song?” _Oh Jesus, not this asshole._ It took all of Emma’s self-control to not immediately give up her service-with-a-smile façade in favour of the infinitely preferable unapologetic hostility that she knew the trench-coat wearing man deserved. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter. _Maybe I should offer a complimentary sneeze-muffin for the inconvenience._

“Uh, no, sorry, that was only a temporary thing.” There was only the teensiest bit of malice in her voice.

“Ugh, fine.” He went back to scrolling on his phone. The bell above the door rang, and she looked up in time to see Paul stepping in, hair askew from the wind. He smiled, a warm, genuine smile, one that for a moment made her forget the dickhead in front of her. She gave Paul a meaningful glance as he joined the queue behind him. He winced sympathetically.

The man looked up at her expectantly. Emma frowned. “…Are you gonna order?”

“Oh, I’ll just have the usual.”

_For fuck’s sake._ “…Which is…?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

“Sir, you order a different drink every time you come in.”

“Uh, I think I would know.”

_Evidently not, jackass._ “I’m sorry, I can’t seem to recall your order, would you care to remind me?” There was no mistaking the thick sarcasm that laced her every word. She sincerely hoped that Nora wasn’t within earshot.

The man stooped down and put his hands on his thighs, leaning until his face was level with Emma’s. He gave his order slowly, emphasising every syllable in a sickeningly patronising way. She gave him a grimace-like smile and turned to make his drink without speaking. _Didn’t he say he was never coming back here?_

After a minute or so, Emma picked up a saltshaker with the intention of making his drink a little more exciting. Before she could unscrew the cap, however, Nora walked out of the staff door, and she shoved it back out of view. She ignored her, stepping up to the counter.

“Hey, Nora,” the man said. _And of course they fucking know each other_.

“Hey, great to see you again. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, but I think your barista might be a bit on the slow side.”

She felt Nora’s eyes on the back of her neck as she pretended to focus on what she was doing. “I’m sorry to hear that, would you like me to take over?”

“Nah, I think she’s getting the hang of it. So… about last night-“

_Okay, we’re done here._ Emma spun back around and held out his drink. That was most definitely a conversation she didn’t need to hear. “Here’s yo-“

Nora took the cup from her before she could finish, holding it up proudly. “There you are! This one’s on the house!” _Oh, you have got to be joking_. Her eyes locked with Paul’s, and he cringed with her. It was comforting to not have to listen to the bullshit unfold by herself, like always. The man slipped Nora a tip – _fucking perfect_ – and left. Emma braced herself for a reproof, but none came. Instead, Nora turned towards Paul. “Welcome to Beanies, what can I get you?”

“Oh, uh...” He glanced at Emma, then fixed his eyes on the chalkboard above her head. “Actually, I’m still deciding.”

“Not a problem, sir, let me know if you need anything.” Nora glared at Emma as she left, walking out from behind the counter towards a messy table. She knew that wasn’t her job, and that any other day she’d get Zoey to do it, meaning she was probably only doing it to keep a watchful eye on Emma. She shook her head the moment Big Brother turned her back and rested her elbows on the side. Paul had stepped forward to meet her.

“let me guess – black coffee?” He furrowed his brow in mock consideration.

“Oh, I don’t know, his drink looked pretty good.”

She smiled and held up her thumb and forefinger. “Y’know, I was _this_ close to tainting it before Nora messed it up.”

“Ah, on second thought, maybe not – black coffee it is.”

“Coming right up.” She checked the coffee pot. So far, she’d had a spit-free day, but she thought it best to make a fresh pot just to be on the safe side. As she worked, it wall all too easy for Emma to slip back into her open rambling with Paul there. “I swear to God, Nora has gotten 100x worse. She’s gone from slightly overbearing to total babysitter, only a babysitter doesn’t threaten to fire you once every ten minutes. Zoey’s okay though – I mean, she’s still annoying, and she’s still constantly kissing Nora’s ass, but at least she’s stopped her constant _singing.”_ She was tempted to tell him her suspicions over the clothes, but she recollected herself and threw Paul a worried glance over what she just said. He seemed relatively un-phased, but there was definitely a more serious edge to his demeanour. She was going to change the subject when Paul spoke up.

“Have you?” She didn’t need him to clarify what he meant.

“No… you?” She took a to-go cup off the stack and tried to keep her face casual as she poured out his coffee.

“No.” He paid for his coffee, then checked behind himself. There was no one else waiting to order and Nora had disappeared. “There was a moment when I thought I would but… I _think_ I stopped myself.”

“Woah, so do you think we get a choice?”

“Feels like it. My buddy Bill, he said he sang last week. He said it was just kinda like talking, and that the music also seemed completely normal at the time, he didn’t even think to question it.” In spite of his ordinary description, Paul’s disgust was evident. Emma held out his coffee and smirked.

“I take it you’re still not sold on the whole thing?”

“I believe my exact words were “I will never be in a _fucking_ musical,” so yeah, I guess you could say that.” The memory caused a ripple of sorts, a twinge, but not necessarily a painful one. They’d made plenty of hints, but this was the first time that one of them had mentioned something outright. If anything, it was comforting. It solidified that what happened wasn’t just some intangible nightmare, a flash of suffering that left nothing but confusion in its wake. It presented a startling opportunity to actually, properly confront what both separated and drew the two together. Whether that was an opportunity Emma was willing to pursue was questionable, but it was there, nonetheless. “Well, uh, thanks for the coffee.” He took a sip and gave her a thumbs up, which she returned. When he turned to leave, it felt too soon, like there was something else she needed to say. She called his name and he turned back, but Emma realised that she didn’t know what she actually wanted to say to him.

In the end, she settled on “Love the hair, by the way.” It was dissatisfying at first, but watching his confusion transition into realisation upon checking his reflection in the window made up for it. His cheeks coloured as he smoothed it back into place, and gave her an embarrassed “thank you” on his way out. Emma watched him through the window as he walked down the street, not noticing Zoey coming through the staff door.

“Are you two dating?”

She normally would’ve told her to _butt out_ , but her answer was automatic. “No.”

“But you like him?”

Again, a question she would’ve dismissed did she not feel the need to confide in someone, and by some miracle Zoey was the closest person in her acquaintance. “I guess.”

“Oh my God, next time he comes in, you should so write your number on his cup!”

That was just about the worst idea Emma had ever heard. “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m telling you, it works every time.” Zoey picked up her phone and started scrolling, leaving Emma to wipe down and think. Not about writing her number on Paul’s cup, there was no way on Earth she would ever consider doing something like that. She tried to think about what she actually wanted. It felt as though she’d known Paul for a lot longer than she really had, and in spite of herself, she’d admitted a lot more to him already than she had to any other human being, probably since before she left Hatchetfield in the first place. But still, there was this screaming voice in her head that told her to leave, to forget about him and everything he represented. There was no way it would work out given her aptitude for fucking stuff up. She had been willing to try before there was an almost apocalypse, but now it felt like there was so much more that she could lose.

She tried to think about these things, but her mind kept slipping away, instead bringing up images of Paul standing across from her, smiling and carefree. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the next chapter is probably gonna steer a little more away from canon because I have a theory that I wanted to include. There will be more violence, so again I'll use blockquotes in case people want to skip, but it may be referenced later so I'll sum up what happens in the end notes.


	13. It's Friday, Friday, Gotta Get Down On Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to Paul's youth, followed by an advancement in modern day Paul and Emma's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while (having a bad time at the moment) but here it is. Like I said, the first section contains violence so I made it easy to skip. It's more of a theory than an attempt at canon-compliance, but I'll sum it up in the notes if anyone needs to skip it. Also, I might upload it as a small separate fic because I only have one at the minute and I thought it could work by itself  
> And I kept changing the perspective in the modern day stuff because I couldn't make up my mind, whoopsie.

> **Friday, May 12th, 2006 – 10:23 pm**
> 
> _Paul’s eyes flitted anxiously around the gathering. He couldn’t believe his luck when he got invited to a party, and had practically counted down the hours until the end of the week finally arrived. It was everything he anticipated, as well as a lot more he never bargained for. He couldn’t see anyone from Sycamore, most of the people appeared to be from Hatchetfield High, leaving Paul completely out of his depth. He didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that no one seemed to be giving him any notice._
> 
> _He sat down on a log and stared at the bonfire, picking up a beer from one of the many six packs someone had dumped on the sand. A loud teen in a varsity jacket had driven his pickup onto the beach and had the radio on full volume. It was playing some rock song Paul had never heard, and the majority of people were clustered around it, jumping and dancing around in the firelight. As he was watching them, one of the dancers broke away. She was laughing, and walked with an unsteady gait, teetering breathlessly over to the log Paul was sitting on. He moved over a couple of inches to give her some more room, and averted his eyes. The last thing he wanted was for someone to think he was staring at them._
> 
> _The girl picked up her own beer and cracked it open. Sitting in front of the fire, still catching her breath, she looked alive, free, _confident_ , everything Paul realised he didn’t. He began to feel very out of place._
> 
> _She met his gaze and he looked away again, blushing slightly at being caught. He wanted to go home. The girl nudged him playfully._
> 
> _“I don’t think I recognise you,” she called over the noise of the party. “Are you like a new student or something?”_
> 
> _“No,” he called back. “I just go to Sycamore.” That wasn’t going to win him any brownie points, but he didn’t see how he could just lie to her. She did seem taken aback, but once that passed she gave him a wide grin._
> 
> _“We’ll just tell everyone you’re from out of town, okay? What’s your name?”_
> 
> _“It’s Paul, Paul Matthews.”_
> 
> _“Hi Paul Matthews,” she said with a giggle. He winced, not knowing why he felt the need to include his last name, as if this was a formal event. “I’m Becky, Becky Barnes.” Paul smiled at her good humour. He hadn’t expected her to be so nice to him. She gestured at the rest of the party. “Do you know anyone here?”_
> 
> _“Not really.” He knew he sounded pathetic, but Becky Barnes didn’t seem the petty type, he doubted she would judge him._
> 
> _Just then, she took his arm and pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, let’s go and talk to my friends, you look like you could use some company.”_
> 
> _She guided him through the crowd until they made it to a small sand dune, on which a group of girls were sat, talking amongst themselves._
> 
> _“Guys, this is Paul, he’s from out of town.” Becky gave him a wink. “He doesn’t really know anyone here.” The girls looked at him. Again, he felt uncomfortable; they looked like they didn’t understand why Becky had brought him over, and as if they had no desire to speak with him._
> 
> _“He looks a little young,” said the girl farthest from them. She was speaking to Becky, but kept her eyes on Paul, staring at him with as unidentifiable expression. “Hey kid, how old are you?”_
> 
> Lie. You’re 18, you’re an adult, you go to parties like this all the time. _“17.”_ Fuck.
> 
> _The girls giggled, with the one who spoke to him not breaking eye contact. “You’re my sister’s age,” she observed. For some reason, the others also found this funny, and the girls giggled even more, a chorus of snide judgement. One of them tapped the first girl on her shoulder._
> 
> _“Hey, why isn’t she here?” she asked through her laughter. “Too stoned or too stupid to find the beach?” Paul expected the first girl to be offended at someone poking fun at her sister, but to his surprise, she was unphased._
> 
> _“Actually, she’s grounded. Though, I daresay that’s because of one of those things.” She smirked, pleased with herself and pleased with how her remarks amused the others. Even Becky let out a little chuckle. It didn’t sit right with Paul, making fun of someone who wasn’t there to defend themselves. He was about to go back to sitting by the bonfire when Becky’s arm grabbed his wrist. She pulled him in the direction he was intending to move, and together they left the group of girls and made their way back to the centre of the party._
> 
> _Becky stooped down to pick up another beer having incredibly already finished hers (Paul had barely touched the one in his hand). Rather than sit back down, she stood facing him, studying his face. It was only slightly awkward, and Paul took a swig of his drink just for something to do._
> 
> _“You know, you don’t look 17,” she said after a moment. Paul wasn’t surprised; he’d always been tall for his age. “Don’t listen to the others, they’re just teasing.”_
> 
> _For some unknown reason, Paul’s brain decided to switch off at this remark, and he was left facing this girl with absolutely no clue of what to say to her. He immediately realised that his silence would most likely come across as creepy, so it became absolutely imperative that he say something._
> 
> _He nodded his head at the burning pile of driftwood. “Cool fire.” _Stupid_. Becky giggled. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like she was giggling _ at _him._
> 
> _“Yeah, yeah I guess your right. Great mood lighting.” The dancing amber flames cast a soft glow over everything the light touched. Looking at Becky, he noticed how it matched the exact colour of her hair, making the edges shimmer._
> 
> _“It’s given you a halo,” he noted, before realising what an utter dweeb that made him sound like. By some miracle, she seemed to approve of his remark._
> 
> _“Wow, you’re a real smooth talker, you know that right?” This confused Paul, but then Becky put her hand on his arm and his brain switched off again. “You got yourself a girl back at Sycamore?” she asked. He struggled for an answer, but was interrupted by a commotion behind them._
> 
> _People were shouting and scrambling around in the sand, desperately trying to avoid the car that came barreling down the beach. Becky’s hand tightened its grip on his arm, and he pushed her behind him as it came closer. It veered to a stop in front of them, and a furious man jumped out, slamming the door behind him. He jabbed a finger at them._
> 
> “Who the fuck _is this?!” he yelled. Paul was a deer in literal headlights. Becky stepped out from behind him._
> 
> _“This is Paul, he’s just a friend.” The man’s eyes didn’t leave his face. He was a couple of inches shorter than Paul, but he had no doubt that this man would be much, much stronger than him. “Stanley, calm down.”_
> 
> _“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down!”_
> 
> _“You know this guy?” Paul asked her. As terrifying as the situation had become, it made no sense. Becky ignored him._
> 
> _“Please, Stanley, people are watching.”_
> 
> _“Get in the car, Becky.”_
> 
> _“Stan-“_
> 
> _“I said get in the FUCKING CAR!”_
> 
> _Paul watched her run, wanting more than anything for her to go in the opposite direction, away from the so-called Stanley. He didn’t see him marching towards him, and the fist that crashed into his stomach was as shocking as it was painful. He bent double, only to have Stanley’s knee thrusted full force into his nose. His eyes instantly flooded, blurring his vision as he fell over backwards._
> 
> _The fall knocked the air out of Paul’s lungs, worsened by Stanley kicking his side, then stomping on his chest when he tried to curl up into a defensive position. Before he knew what was happening, Stanley grabbed a hold of Paul’s shirt and yanked his upper body off the ground by a foot, and punched him, once, twice, three times, four times in the face. Paul felt himself drop back down to the floor. He became aware of a great deal of shuffling, and the glow from the fire was blocked out. In the distance, the car’s engine started, eventually fading into the distance._
> 
> _Blinking profusely, Paul was unable to completely clear his sight. Someone – he thought he heard a man’s voice – was leaning over him, telling others to give him some room. The light from the fire returned, making it a little easier for Paul to see. The man above him was another partygoer, one Paul hadn’t yet seen. He had a very soothing voice, even if Paul couldn’t yet understand what he was saying._
> 
> _The man helped him sit up and held out a tissue for him. This made no sense to Paul, until he brought a hand up to his chin and felt the blood dripping down it. He took the tissue, trying his best to mumble out a thank you. The world around him was becoming gradually clearer, and soon enough he was able to register what the kind man was saying._
> 
> _“What’s your name, buddy?” The crowd had mostly dispersed. Someone had switched off the music and only a few curious stragglers remained on the beach._
> 
> _“I’m Paul,” he replied, as clearly as he could through the tissue._
> 
> _“Okay Paul, my name’s Bill. Listen, is there anyone I can call for you? Or do you need a ride somewhere, Paul?” Paul thought about this for a moment. His dad was working, and his mom was visiting Paul’s Grandmother in Clivesdale, meaning it would be a while before either of them would be able to pick him up. On the other hand, he only lived about a five-minute drive away from the beach._
> 
> _“I could use a ride, yeah. Are you sure it’s okay?”_
> 
> _“Of course, my girlfriend and I can give you a lift if you want. Now, let’s get you to your feet.”_

*****

**Friday, October 26th, 2018**

There was no way that Paul was going to move things forward between them, that much was apparent to Emma. Her eyes shifted back and forth between the cup in her hand and the marker pen underneath the counter. He was due any minute, she had to make a decision.

_Okay, let’s pro-con this. Pro: I let him know how I feel; it’s Friday so I won’t have to face the consequences right away, that’s always good; I could end up talking to him for more than four minutes each day, and… okay, that’s all I’ve got, apparently. Con…_

_This is fucking stupid._

_And Zoey suggested it, I doubt that’s a good sign._

And yet, as much as it physically pained her to admit it, part of her still wanted to do it. The only other option would be to do it face to face, but the only time she saw him was in Beanies, and the thought of having to make that sort of confession with Nora’s beady eyes trained on her every move was so much worse than the cup thing. Was it just a matter of going with the lesser of two evils?

Emma checked the staff door. Zoey was sifting through the storeroom, and Nora was off somewhere doing admin. She groaned, picked up the marker pen, wrote her number on the side of the cup and tucked it away out of sight. 

The sound of what could only be described as falling books came from somewhere behind the staff door, causing Emma as well as several customers to raise their heads in confusion. She rushed to the back area to find the source of the noise.

*****

“Alright, I’m going to Beanies, anyone want anything?” Getting up from his desk, Paul wandered over to stand behind Bill. Mr. Davidson had made a mistake with data-logging, but he wasn’t prepared to admit it. As a result, the entire workforce had been instructed to sift through about a month’s worth of records to straighten things out. Bill had his head perched on one hand as he scrolled with the other.

“Mind if I come with you? I’ve got to stretch my legs for a few minutes or I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Sure thing, Bill.” Bill was one of the few people he could count on to behave like a normal human when needed, especially in the sort of situation that Ted would see as a free-for-all of embarrassing other people. Plus, he’d wanted Bill to meet Emma properly for a while. The strange pleasure Paul felt in anticipation of the acquaintance was very short lived. Ted emerged from the shadows right on cue, in a manner that closely resembled some sort of demon that had given up outright possession in favour of irritating people into insanity. In an instant, his face was uncomfortably close to Paul’s ear.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me?” It was the usual routine; he’d wait for an invitation, decline it, crack a few jokes, and only then would you be allowed to leave.

“Sure, Ted, you wanna come?” Paul asked monotonously. He didn’t know why he was always so nervous delivering that invite, especially seeing as Ted had never actually-

“Count me in! Aw, look at us, just a bunch o’ bros gettin’ drinks! Let me just grab my jacket real quick.”

_Fuck a duck._

*****

Paul had spent the entire five-minute walk trying to ignore Bill and Ted’s incessant bickering. Bill had said something mundane, Ted started picking it to pieces, Bill got defensive, same old same old. Both of them had tried to get Paul to weigh in at some point, but he feigned deafness from the bitter autumn wind whistling over their heads. That was one of Paul’s mantras in life – when you’re backed into a corner, blame the weather. After all, it’s pretty indisputable.

In spite of his believable excuse, he most definitely could hear the old married couple and their senseless squabbling, and it was starting to piss him off. He just had to get to Beanies; hopefully they’d shut up when they got inside, and if he was really lucky Ted would be too bitter about it to tease him about the ridiculous things he was bound to say around Emma, or, God forbid, repeat that infernal nickname. Paul did realise that it was probably rather naïve of him to think for one moment that Ted would reign in his behaviour, but it was at least a source of momentary comfort to think that he might. 

Bill and Ted’s petty disagreements were notoriously repetitive, and not a single valuable point had been made on either side. It had gotten to the point that by the time they approached the coffee shop, they weren’t even arguing about the same topic they started on. Paul couldn’t help quickening his pace in those last few steps towards the door, yanking it open with a relieved sigh. All he was greeted with upon entering, however, was disappointment; Emma was nowhere in sight. 

There wasn’t much of a queue, just a red-haired woman stood beside a man who was leaning against the abandoned counter, tapping it impatiently. The trio walked over to them, positioning themselves a couple of feet behind.

After a minute or so, the staff door opened and there she was… arm wrapped around a sniffling Zoey? Paul watched in confusion as Emma lifted the trapdoor and supported Zoey across the shop and over to the entrance. He jogged ahead of them to hold the door open, earning him two tired ‘thank you’s. The baristas hobbled over to a car that pulled up onto the curb in front of the establishment. In the front seat, Paul could just about recognise Nora, who leaned over to open the passenger side door for them. Once Emma had helped Zoey inside, she stood for a second talking to her boss before closing the door on them. She didn’t wait to watch them drive off before darting back inside, passing Paul without looking at him. The glimpse of her face he caught told him that they’d come at a very stressful time.

He followed her inside, watching her practically run back behind the worktop as he joined the others (no longer arguing, much to his delight). Emma kept her back to the queue for a moment, bustling around with coffee pots and machines, getting everything up and running again. The man leaning on the side let out an exasperated huff and cleared his throat. When Emma didn’t respond, he began clicking his fingers and demanding her to take his order, with the woman staring off to the side in complete apathy. Emma, on the other hand, took notice. She turned on him, shooting him a glare that could have reduced him to ash. Given how terrible a time she was evidently having, Paul realised it was probably a bad thing that he was having to suppress a smile. He couldn’t help it though; there was something immensely satisfying how she put rude customers in their place, and by the looks of things, that man was about to receive a shock.

Her eyes maintained their icy stare, and her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “I heard you. You don’t have to snap at me like I’m a dog.”

The man scoffed slightly and waved his hand dismissively. “Listen, I’m gonna be spending a lot of money here, so I expect the staff to respond accordingly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is the service not up to your standards? Well, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re a barista down, and I’m covering her section as well as my own so, if you could not be a giant dickhead, that’d be great,” she retorted, with an impressive amount of passive aggressive malice.

The man visibly recoiled, his shoulders hunching over in an embarrassed, apologetic way. When he spoke, his voice had lost its entitled edge in favour of a more hushed and respectful tone. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Emma flashed him a disingenuous smile before reassuming her retail-face. “Thank you. Welcome to Beanies, what can I get you guys?”

*****

Emma was so fucking done.

When she had entered the storeroom earlier, she discovered a really rather unhappy Zoey lying on the ground in a clump of fallen boxes. Apparently she had lost her balance when stacking the shelf and had stumbled into it, causing about twenty pounds worth of packaged coffee beans to fall on top of her. 

By the time Nora found them, Emma had ascertained that she probably had a concussion. Nora chucked Emma the keys for the store and said she was going to bring her car round, and that Emma was to help Zoey get out front the quick way, through the store itself, so that Nora could take Zoey to the hospital. She also said that if they weren’t back in time, Emma would have to mind the store and lock up, and be there to open it again in the morning, even though she was never put on weekend shifts (these were mainly given to the high-school aged baristas that Emma never talked to). Emma bit her tongue and nodded, realising that she didn’t exactly have a choice. _Who knows, maybe Nora will finally lay the fuck off if I do good._

It was slow progress getting Zoey to stand, and then even slower to get her moving, but eventually they made it out front. Zoey was in a sort of groggy, confused daze, meaning she had to steer her where she needed them to go. Emma didn’t notice Paul until she saw him holding aside the door for them, but she had seen Bill and that asshat Ted standing in line, so it made sense that he was there too.

Once Zoey was seated and strapped in, Nora gave Emma a condescending warning about not burning the place down _(Oh, don’t you fucking tempt me)_ before driving off. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Paul when she went back in, but she could feel the concern radiating off of him as she passed. He literally could not have come at a worse time. On a day like this, Paul’s presence might have been the only thing to put her in some semblance of a good mood. Except he wasn’t there alone, and there was no way she could give him that stupid cup with other people watching. Sure, she could wait and give it to him another day, but by that time she would most likely have fretted over it enough to bail completely, meaning she would probably just never end up giving him her number because it was just never a good time, and then that giant gap between them would probably just keep getting bigger, until he eventually figured that she wasn’t interested or until he got bored and moved on, and before she knew it, Emma Perkins would have fucked up another perfectly good thing.

And to top it all off, some dickweed had the nerve to patronisingly click his fingers at her like she was some kind of animal. _Fucking perfect._

Despite her disappointment at him not being alone, it was still a breath of fresh air to see Paul. At the very least it meant she could drop the whole service-with-a-smile act. When he approached the counter, he gave a hesitant introduction to the people he brought with him. It was a nice surprise that she had been able to remember their names correctly. She took their orders and filled them in on the whole shelf-gate incident, and how she was effectively in charge so there was nothing stopping her from speaking to customers however she saw fit.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Paul chuckled, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

Emma was about to explain that she only had two more to-go cups and would need out back to fetch more, when Ted spoke up, presumably having grown tired of not hearing his own voice. “So, what are your plans on Wednesday?” Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Paul pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Give me a minute, I’m sure I can think of something.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Cute. C’mon, Paul said you were busy, so what is it?”

She glanced at him. He looked both apologetic and severely uncomfortable, a look she thought she understood. “What’s happening on Wednesday?” _And why don't you want me there?_

At that point Bill took over from Ted, giving him a light nudge. “CCRP is having a little Halloween party, nothing special." 

Paul piped up at last. “I didn’t think that was something you’d enjoy, their always kinda-“

“Are you kidding, I love Halloween!” There was something about all the tacky spooky decorations popping up everywhere that never failed to fill Emma with a sort of child-like glee.

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah! God, I haven’t been to a Halloween party in years.” Emma poured out Bill and Ted’s drinks, sparking an idea.

“Oh, well then, you could- if you wanted, that is-“

“You should join us, we’re allowed to bring plus ones, and it’d be nice to have a new face around, they’re getting a little routine at this point,” Bill interrupted, taking the cup Emma held out of him.

“I’d love to. Tell you what-“ she picked up the cup she hid on the shelf and, shielding the ink from view, mimed writing her number on it, as if it wasn't already on there, “- why don’t you text me the details?” She poured out his coffee and gave him her number in precisely the way she swore she never would. He coloured slightly upon receiving his drink, which was admittedly adorable, and nodded.

“Sure, uh, will do.” He slipped her a tip – _ten bucks, Jesus_ – and smiled. 

“Anyways, Bill, like I said, there is no such thing as a million-dollar bill,” Ted moaned as he left.

“Well not anymore, there isn’t…” Their voices trailed off as they made their way outside. Paul turned at the door to roll his eyes at her, to which Emma giggled and gave him a thumbs up.

The rest of the day was predictably shit, but she had that moment to carry her through. On the way back to the car, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.

_“I didn’t want to say anything before, but you are such a fucking cliché.”_

She grinned and typed out her response. _“That’s rich coming from Paul “some things are worth it” Matthews.”_

_“Touché.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback summary: Paul attends a beach party in 2006, get's beaten up by Stanley after Becky Barnes flirts with him, making him the boy mentioned in Becky's Black Friday monologue, and meets Bill for the first time. I came up with this after realising Paul said he knew Becky Barnes in that little promo vid, and the Bill thing was for some good ol' fanfiction convenience


	14. Maybe okay will be our always (I had to make that reference at some point, come on)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Restless after a productive day, Emma realises she has unfinished business, and reaches out for some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting more and more careless with canon compliance I realised (not necessarily in this chapter), so I'll just say this fic is written for the reality wherein both Paul gets beat up at that party and something else happens which I am yet to write.  
> And in general, do I talk about eyes too much?

Another shitty day at Beanies was not how Emma had hoped to see in the weekend. Naturally, it was busier than any of the weekday shifts, but at least Nora had the good grace to let her clock out at two. The stone-cold warden even went as far as to compliment her on how she handled the responsibility. Any other time and Emma might have been embittered by this praise, but she was so tired that the relief got to her before anything else could. For once, she let herself feel it, and even went as far as to feel a little proud.

_Emma Perkins didn’t fuck it up. Fuck yeah._

Crashing down onto her couch was one of the most satisfying sensations imaginable, tainted only a little bit by the textbook that felt like it was staring daggers at her as she did so. Waiting inside was a section on messenger RNA transcription that she had to know inside out by Monday, when a new paper would be set. Emma was faced with two choices: reward herself with some well-earned down time, or be a responsible student who acknowledged the fact that she wasn’t financially stable enough to face flunking out of such an investment. Reluctantly, she dragged the book onto her lab, but flicked on the TV for some background noise, figuring it was a fair compromise. The channel she had left it on was showing a re-run of the Scrubs pilot, and she had tuned in just in time to hear the line “Your butt looks like two pringles hugging,” which caused an involuntary snort.

She wasn’t sure what it was. It could have been the line, it could have been the fact that she felt like she was finally on top of what she was doing, or it could have been that she was sitting on her couch at a reasonable time after working all morning. Maybe it was all three. Either way, in that moment, for what must have been the first time in years, Emma felt optimistic for optimism’s sake. That is, there was no clear reason for it, no definable cause. Part of her realised that it might not even be optimism; she’d spent so much of her time recently feeling downright miserable, and a lot of time before that feeling almost nothing at all, that she may just have been feeling normal in that particular moment, and she just wasn’t used to it.

It didn’t matter what it was or why she felt the way she did, though. She savoured it. She _deserved_ it, and for once, she wasn’t going to let herself question that.

It felt good. 

By the time Emma finished the chapter, the attached application questions and made a detailed set of notes _(I am on FIRE)_ , it was five o’clock. Did she feel on edge? Something in her told her to move, do something, go somewhere. Emma desperately tried to recall how she normally spend Saturday evenings, to no avail. Perhaps she’d been spending more time on classwork recently than she normally did, and she usually had more to do. This left her sitting in her apartment. Watching Scrubs. A decent enough way to spend the time, but she was definitely too restless to stay there for the whole evening. 

In the end, she decided to take a shower. _What a live wire, what crazy antics will I get up to next?_ This turned out to be beneficial, however, as most good ideas (as well as some shitty ones) are formed in the shower. She realised that there were two things she wanted to do (which was probably why she felt the need for activity) and on top of this she couldn’t shake the thought that they could be knitted together somehow, something she deliberated whilst drying her hair.

By six o’clock, Emma was back on her couch, staring at her phone. She’d pretty much made up her mind what she wanted to do, but until that point had given very little thought as to how it would actually be done. Odd, how quickly an evening of agitation can slam into a brick wall of nervous mental blanking. It took a lot of effort to bring up Paul’s chat and text him the first thing that came into her head without stopping herself or changing anything. The second she hit send on _“Hey, you busy tonight? I could use some advice,”_ she put her phone face-down on the cushion. That was a completely normal message to send, not something that could freak him out. There was no way that could be misinterpreted as a “we need to talk”, she was sure of it. Mostly.

His reply came in less than a minute. _“Yeah sure, what sort of time?”_ She hadn’t thought of a response by the time a second message came through. _“To clarify, I meant no, I’m not busy. And did you mean that you wanted to meet or just a phone call? Sorry, kinda jumped the gun a bit.”_

She smirked. If she had been in a particularly evil mood, she might have waited a minute to reply, having sensed his panic. As it was, she was far from wanting to prolong his unease, quite the opposite in fact. She hit the call button, unfortunately not realising how anxiety-inducing that could be.

She didn’t wait for him to speak. “I was gonna grab something to eat first, if you’d be down for meeting at The Anchor, say, around nine? Unless that’s a little late for you. I could just really go for a drink, and I don’t have anything here at the minute.” The Anchor was one of the less shifty bars of downtown Hatchetfield, and it was central enough to be in walking distance of both her apartment and, with any luck, wherever Paul might live.

 _“Uh, yeah, sure, nine’s great. Is, uh… is everything okay?”_ He sounded calm enough, with only a hint of hesitation.

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine. It’s nothing urgent, I just thought if I put off making a decision any longer then I’m in danger of just never making one, y’know? So, I figured getting a second opinion was probably a step in the right direction.”

 _“Right, yeah, of course. So what’s this about, anyway?”_ He seemed to be trying very hard to keep his tone casual. It was almost working.

“It’s kinda hard to explain, d’you mind if I just wait to do it in person?” She cringed to think of how far from reassuring that must have been, but it was the truth. Besides, if she started to explain, she might not stop, and pretty soon her whole reason for meeting would be wasted over a phone call.

_“Okay, yeah, no problem. So, nine then?”_

Emma smiled. “Don’t you dare leave me hanging.”

 _“Wouldn’t dream of it.”_ It was halfway between jokey and sincere.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

*****

_Holy shit._

Paul placed his phone down carefully. There was a lot he had to unpack and very little time in which to do it.

_Okay. Okay. Oh… kay._

Emma needed advice. With something she couldn’t explain over the phone. _Okay._

She wanted to meet for a drink. In three hours. _Okay._

She was coming to _him_ for advice. Something he had never really known how to give. _Oh… God._

_Either she’s being serious and I could seriously fuck it up, or she’s just doing this for an excuse to grab a drink together, and I could seriously fuck it up. Okay._

He looked down at what he was wearing. He’d met Bill and Alice for breakfast that morning, and ended up spilling orange juice down himself, catching both his t-shirt and his jeans, so a change of outfit was probably his first course of action. That would leave Paul with approximately two hours and fifty-seven minutes to overthink.

_Okay._

*****

The Anchor was a great choice, with it being one of the few bars in walking distance of Paul’s house, therefore it actually allowed him to drink – not that that was something he did often, but there wasn’t much point in going out if all he was having was water. That being said, if there was ever a night to take it easy this would be it, evidenced by how the sight of the flickering neon sign above the entrance caused his heart to leap up into his throat. If he was going to be of any use, Paul would need to find a way to calm down that didn’t involve incoherence.

He fumbled with the zip on his jacket as he stepped in out of the cold. The bar wasn’t busy for a Saturday night, but there were enough people to give it a comfortable atmosphere. Paul was a couple of minutes early, and expected to be the first one there, until a woman’s voice calling his name from a small table in the corner told him otherwise.

He almost didn’t recognise her with her hair down, curls tumbling onto her shoulders in delicate tresses. Emma stood up and, picking up the empty bottle in front of her and the bag hanging on the chair, waved him in the direction of the bar. She seemed calm, which was more that Paul could say for himself. A small part of his mind noted how comfortable she looked in regular clothes. Compared to the last time he saw her with no uniform and no intricate up-do, Emma looked a hundred times better. She looked awake, lively, even happy, and it suited her.

Paul walked up to the spot she indicated and drummed his fingers on the side, eyeing the large plastic anchor suspended above their heads. The walls were cluttered with similar examples of tacky nautical-themed decorations, making it look more like an aquarium gift shop than a bar. Emma gave him a small smile before getting the bartender’s attention.

“What can I get you guys?” he asked, tossing a cloth over his shoulder.

“Same again, please,” Emma replied, holding up the bottle. The man nodded, taking it from her and placing it behind the bar.

“What about you?” He nodded at Paul.

“Uh, yeah, the same. Thanks.” He didn’t even recognise which drink it was. The bartender turned to a row of small refrigerators behind him and took out two more bottles. Paul reached into his pocket to retrieve his wallet, only to see Emma already handing the bartender a note. He was about to object, but she stopped him.

“Don’t worry, you can get the next round,” she said with a wink. _A wink? What, does- why did she- oh, never mind._

Together, they made their way back to the table in the corner. It felt out of the way, private, almost…

No. No, no, _no_ , Paul refused to let himself read into that. It was probably just to keep away from the draft of the door. Emma had kept her jacket on, zipped up to the top, and she had a black scarf tied high around her neck; she was just cold.

She started talking as she pulled out her chair. “So, sorry about the short notice, but y’know, I figured if neither of us were busy…”

“No yeah, completely… not busy.” _For the love of God, stop._

She smirked. “Get up to anything today?”

 _Oh thank you, Bill._ “Yes!” _Alright, dial it back_. Paul cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah-“ _She’s smiling, is that a good thing?_ “-yeah this morning I was over at Bill’s, every now and then he invites me over for breakfast.” 

“Oh, sounds fun, how’s he doing?” It almost surprised Paul how genuinely interested she seemed to be, to hear about the life of his friend.

“Good, a lot better, really; his ex-wife lets Alice stay every weekend now, so yeah, he’s doing a lot better. Actually, this is probably the happiest I’ve seen him in years.”

She seemed touched for a moment, before a glint of humour entered her eyes. “Even with Ted bugging him? Did they ever sort out what they were arguing over yesterday?”

“Ugh, hardly. I was trying not to get involved, but then Bill accidentally referred to the Lobster Backs as just “Lobsters”, and Ted just hounded him for it the rest of the way, so eventually I had to step in, tell ‘em to cut it out.” Something Paul had said made Emma laugh, and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling with her. This was how it was meant to be the first time, all ease and enjoyment (disregarding his nerves, that is). This felt right, and for once, Paul found himself unable to regret what had happened, because it had somehow led him to exactly where he wanted to be.

Emma took a sip of her beer and threw a subtle glance at her bag, resting by her feet, that he couldn’t decipher. She looked like she wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure where to begin. So far she’d been the one prompting him to speak, so Paul felt it was only right to do the same for her. “So, you mentioned something about needing to make a decision? I mean, I’m not sure how good I am with giving advice but… I shall, uh, certainly try.” A thumbs up felt appropriate until he was actually holding it up, and he placed his hand back on the table regretting it.

The smile she gave him was different, still warm but with a sombre edge to it. She pulled her bag up onto the table.

“Yeah, uh… something happened last Friday, and uh…” Paul tried to shut off the alarm bells in his head as she fished out a slip of paper and placed it, folded, on the table. Upside down he could read her name on the front. “I wasn’t sure then, and I guess I’m still not sure now, but I know I have to do something about it. Have a read.” She slid it towards him. Paul tried his best to ignore how ominous the mood had become as he took it up.

Unfolding it, the words were written in a manic, slanted scrawl, and were barely legible, but after a couple of sentences he started to get a hang of it. He sat forward the moment he understood the note's significance, who must have sent it, how it must have been delivered, and he rested his elbows on the table as he read. Once he finished, he read it through a second time to make sure he didn’t miss anything. 

Placing it carefully back on the table, Paul leaned back into his seat to indicate that he was finished, not removing his eyes from the scratchy ink. 

Emma took another sip of beer. “Yeah, one thing is I haven’t actually had to buy groceries over the past week, so technically drinks are on him.” He looked up at her now fatigued face. Her eyes were still fixed on the note.

“Well… first, well done on your paper.” That caught her off guard, and she chuckled.

“Thanks.”

 _Alright, advice time. Eheheheh._ “I guess… do you know what your options are?”

“Uh, yeah. I could go on as I am, studying from home, getting everything online and, I don’t know, just hoping I don’t run into something I don’t understand. I could request to be moved to a different class. Technically, I could just drop out, but then I’ll be a barista for the rest of my life and that is just not happening. Or… I could go back. Only, to do _that_ , I’d have to forgive him.”

Paul’s voice was hushed, more so than he anticipated. “And do you?”

“I don’t know.” Her response had a gravity to it.

“Well, maybe… maybe it’s not a matter of forgiveness.” She looked up at him. “I don’t know, maybe it’s…” Paul couldn’t decide how serious he was willing to be, worrying that if he went too far he’d upset her or make her uncomfortable, and she’d walk out.

“Maybe it’s what?” she prompted, leaning forward. She didn’t seem wary, merely curious, so he continued.

“I mean… are you afraid of him?”

Emma considered this for a moment. “I… I’m not sure.”

Her honesty encouraged him to go further. “Angry? Or… I don’t know, upset?”

“I don’t _think_ so. I mean, I was, but…” Her eyes fell back on the paper. “I think… I think if anything I feel bad for him. Y’know… he told me once… he told me he got struck by lightning when he was younger. He never really brought it up again, but I always just kind of assumed that was why he was… the way that he was. And I know what he did was _wrong_ , but I keep thinking about how… _alone_ he must be. And being alone, regretting your mistakes… well, that’s not something I’d wish on anyone.” 

They sat quite for a moment, letting the situation sink in. Paul’s mind drifted back to the conversation they had that day, when Emma told him about her sister. He thought about the years she spent travelling, how alone _she_ must have felt. Maybe she saw forgiving Professor Hidgens as like forgiving herself. Regardless of that, there was something else Paul felt like he needed to address.

“Emma… I get that you want to help him, and I won’t go into whether or not _I_ think that’s a good idea, not yet at least. First… I need… _you_ need to make sure that whatever you choose to do isn’t at the expense of your own feelings. You can’t help him purely because he might need it, I know that sounds harsh but… Emma, what he did… it was illegal. _Highly_ illegal. I’m not saying it’s unforgivable, or that- okay, morally this is a very ambiguous situation, so I’ll leave that there for now, I’m just saying… don’t pressure yourself to _not_ feel a certain way. Because _if_ you are still scared of him, that’s okay.” 

Emma folded her arms carefully around her middle and looked off at the direction of the bar. “I know. I know it is, but… I just feel like whatever I do, I can’t keep delaying it.” 

_What does that remind me of? There was something else you said, what was it? Oh… “But then when I got the invitation to her funeral I was like… oh. There won’t be a next one.”_

“Emma…” He went to reach for her hand but stopped himself, instead settling for leaning on the table again. “Emma, you’ve got time.” She looked back at him with softened eyes. “If you really wanted to do something, you could always drop in at the end of one of his classes. Not necessarily to talk to him, even, just… see him and try to decide how you feel. But…” Paul picked up the note again. “He wants you to take care of yourself, no matter what that means. So please try not to rush into anything, because I’m with him on this one. About taking care of yourself. Not… anything else.” Dropping his gaze _(have I been staring?)_ , Paul handed back the note, which she folded and returned to her bag.

“That’s… that’s a good idea. Thank you.” It must have been difficult for her to let him in like that, he realised. Last time, they thought the world was ending, so it only made sense. But two weeks on, with everything starting to feel like normal again, that kind of vulnerability was a risk, and not one that everyone would take. 

“Hey, no problem. If you wanted, I could come with you, y’know, for… moral support, I guess.”

A weak smile. “Nah, that’s okay, you don’t have to. But I’ll let you know if I go through with it.”

“Sure, yeah, I’d love to hear from you.” A stronger smile this time, one that pushed up the corners of her eyes. He took a sip of the beer he had almost forgotten – it was nice, a little strong maybe, but it went down well enough.

“So… how long have you and Bill been friends?” The change of topic might have been a bit sudden, but it felt natural after that.

“Oh God, years. We were teenagers, I think? We met at a party.” Paul hoped she wouldn’t dig too deeply into that one.

For some reason it seemed to amuse her. “Oh wow, okay. So were you both wasted? Because I can’t imagine a drunk Bill.”

“Ah, well _I_ was-“ _just not in the way that you think_ “- but Bill was actually a designated driver. That tends to be his usual gig, but you might see him drunk on Wednesday if he gets a ride home.”

“Hold up, I thought you said there was a two drink limit?”

“Yeah, Bill doesn’t have the best tolerance.”

*****

The Anchor closed at midnight. Paul felt like it was impossible that they had been in there for three hours. Consequently, stepping out into the bitter cold, he didn’t feel ready to say goodbye. As a compromise to himself, he offered to walk her home, which she gladly accepted. It wasn’t a particularly far walk, and he figured out that she lived about the same distance away from him as she did from the bar, forming a sort of triangle across both downtown Hatchetfield and the neighbourhood he lived in. Stopping outside a block of apartments, she turned to face him, and the separation he had been prolonging became necessary.

“Thank you for inviting me out. I, uh… I had a great time,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, me too.” She stayed where she was, smiling up at him. For once, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Paul felt like he could have stood there until dawn, if it wasn’t freezing, and if that wasn’t an immensely creepy thing to do.

“Well then, I’d best be off. You have fun shopping tomorrow.” He still couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Oh, right yeah. Do I leave it as a surprise for Wednesday, or do you want to know what I’ll be coming as beforehand?”

“Oh, surprise, definitely. Knowing you, you’ll probably hide in the bushes before I get here, jump out an-“ Paul was unable to finish his sentence; Emma had stretched a hand up around the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss, with the other resting itself on his chest. His eyes closed instinctively, but after taking his hands out of his pockets, he kept them held out rather than holding her closer, like he wanted to. 

After a couple of seconds, Emma pulled her head back to gauge his reaction. He opened his eyes slowly, and was startled by the alarm that was growing in hers.

“Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ she stepped back from him, holding her hands up apologetically, but Paul reached out and caught her elbow, and she stopped. 

Paul closed the distance tentatively, placing his hands, tender, on either side of her neck and tilting up her chin up with his thumbs. Emma closed her eyes. He kissed her delicately but deliberately, moving one hand to cup the back of her head, and the other to slide around her waist as she lifted her arms up to grab his shoulders. He broke away sooner than he wanted to, simply to demonstrate to himself that he could. He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

“How drunk are you?” he asked. Their breath fogged in the cold between them, betraying how both of them were being affected.

“Not at all – a little tipsy maybe, but not drunk. You?”

“I’ve got a buzz, but I’m alright.”

“Well then…” Emma placed both of her hands behind his ears, checking that it was okay with a cautious look. 

“Well then…” 

The next kiss was deeper, and more urgent. Paul’s hands went from gentle against her waist to wrapped firmly around her, and she arched her back at the contact, pressing their bodies together as close as possible. One of her knees grazed his hip, and he would’ve reached down to hold her thigh against him if that didn’t feel a little pushy.

This time, it was her who ended it, but she stayed pressed up against him, resting their foreheads together. “Do you want to come inside?”

 _More than anything_ was Paul’s immediate response, but he stopped himself. That small voice in the back of his head couldn’t be ignored. “Are you sure?”

A hand cupped his cheek. “One hundred percent.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He gave her another soft, gentle kiss. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mrs Mega voice * THEY'RE GONNA DO IT, THEY'RE GONNA DO IT  
> Also, I've never had to name a bar before.  
> And yeah, I'm not really one for writing smut I don't think, I mean I've never tried to but I don't see a reason to start


	15. What do you say? (when you slept together)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma have very different internal monologues the morning after. (Emma's in crisis mode and Paul's both very happy and very nervous to be there)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be longer but the other stuff I wanted to be in this chapter I'm just gonna put in C.16 because it might be a bit all over the place, so it'll probably just be many small segments over the course of the same day.

The scent was the first thing she noticed, even before opening her eyes. Aftershave and something else lingering underneath. Detergent, perhaps, or maybe it was just _him_. Already it had become familiar to her, a fleeting association formed across scared embraces and moments of solace found in all the confusion, but never had it felt so near or so abundant. It was intoxicating in a way, how the fragrance was both a comfortable and an exciting presence. She held onto it, savouring the tranquillity of the moment and the lack of disturbance. The morning was still and silent, her eyes sealed shut; all senses gave way to one. 

There was no knowing how long she had been awake for before a shift occurred. The pulse she had begun to register thumping delicately against her ear started to quicken, as did the soft breath that danced over her forehead and the steady rise and fall of the chest she rested against, both switching from a dozing calm to an increasing unease. She stayed where she was, listening to the changes play out. She heard his head tilting to the side somewhere above her, brushing against a pillow. His arm stiffened, and only then did she realise it had been wrapped around her the whole time. He lifted his fingers away from her ribs for a moment before carefully replacing them, a deep exhale accompanying the movement. His breathing gradually became less erratic, and his pulse dropped to an almost normal rhythm, if a little fast. Something brushed against the top of the hand she had draped over his stomach. It painted intricate patterns on her skin with a curious, feather-light touch, tracing up and down from her fingers to her wrist, leaving a warm tingling sensation in its wake. Eventually he rested his entire palm over it, a gentle pressure that somehow coaxed her own lungs into betraying her.

Reluctantly, she played off her affected breathing as a sigh, repositioning her head in a way that suggested she was only just waking up. She stretched her thumb up to squeeze the fingertips that hung over the edge of her hand, and was answered by a reciprocating squeeze. The hand that cradled her side started to stroke her skin, only for a fraction of an inch before it stopped itself.

Either he was uncomfortable, or he was trying very hard not to make her so.

Emma opened her eyes with the intention of seeming confident and comfortable, in the hope that she could make him feel the same, but there was something about the sight of his neck, bare and pale, mere centimetres away from her eyes, that made it impossible.

Emma realised, in that moment, that she had never woken up like this. Her mind propelled itself back through the years of cities and mountains and strange faces, parties and part-time jobs that kept her afloat just enough to keep moving. She thought about the people she’d met. The kind old shopkeepers in need of cheap labour, who let her stash her pack somewhere safe when she wanted to explore in the evenings, who would reminisce out loud to her about a time, long ago, when they would do the exact same thing; the predators, con artists who know a traveller when they see one and assumed they’d be able to take advantage of her because she was an American, not realising that she could understand their language, and knew that she couldn’t trust anyone; the pretentious, entitled youth, who would prattle on about “soul searching” and “finding themselves”, who came from wealthy backgrounds and still believed they were down-trodden, because their parents would only pay for them to go as far as Switzerland. They drove her nuts, but she would usually tag along with them anyway. At least then she wasn’t confined to English or Spanish-speaking countries, and transportation became a lot easier to find. She thought back to the dingy hostels and crowded nightclubs, to the dancing and drinking and linking arms with women she’d never even met, clustering together for security like meerkats in the night. The one-night-stands, each a clumsy blur of drunk fumbling on creaking beds or in cramped bathrooms that promised satisfaction but always left her feeling lost and cold and desperate to leave, to move on to somewhere else. No one ever stuck around until morning, and Emma was no exception – if _they_ didn’t leave right away, _she_ did. The dizzy scramble for clothes, avoiding eye-contact, either not speaking a word or trying very hard not to wake them up. That would be the end of it.

Waking to find herself in an apartment that was _hers_ , cuddled up against a guy that she had not only started to care for in a real, human way, but that she had also been through hell with and come back almost in one piece, was in itself a perplexing enough situation for her to be in when she considered the rest of her life. Add in the fact that both of them were undoubtedly, completely naked…

If there was a standard etiquette put in place for such a situation, Emma wasn’t aware of it.

All she could do was stare at the skin of his neck, so close to her face. Smooth, but almost flickering in places from the force of his blood pumping through the arteries hidden just beneath the surface. Eventually, one of them would have to break the silence. He knew she was awake, he had to. Maybe he was just as stuck as she was. It was difficult to think of the right thing to say when she knew that the next step would be getting up, and there were two reasons why Emma didn’t want to do that. 

One, they were naked. Very naked. At that moment, they were fortunately covered by a duvet, but whilst Emma realised that they did just sleep together (in more ways than one), and that a lot of people would assume simply seeing someone naked was a level below that, anything that came next was territory she had never before stepped into. For once, it was personal, and she couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious.

Two, Emma couldn’t remember a time when someone had held her so close. It felt comforting and natural, and if she let go there was a chance it would never happen again, because the moment that she started thinking in any serious capacity about what she was doing, she would have to face some pretty daunting questions.

Paul was good. He was familiar. He made her laugh, and he saved her life, and he smelt amazing, and he was pretty much the only shred of stability she had come in to contact with since high school. He was sweet and brave and attractive and flawed and _normal._

That was the problem; for as long as she remembered, Emma _broke_ normal.

Every failed class, every detention, every late-night lecture. The pressure, the rebellion, the spite, they all built up into one great big disappointment, the disfigured jigsaw piece that no matter how hard it tried, wasn’t able to cramp itself into the picture her parents had decided on. In the end, she had given up, intent on consuming herself and her life with becoming the one thing she was capable of – everything her parents disliked. An irresponsible, impulsive stoner, who was completely independent from them and from everyone else. Aloof.

They wanted another Jane. Another popular genius cheerleader valedictorian with a 4.0 and a promising future. Average wasn’t enough for them. _She_ wasn’t enough for them.

So she pushed them away, pushed Hatchetfield away and, because she couldn’t face the shame of returning to a place that made her feel like nothing, pushed away the one person who actually believed her capable of anything. 

But now she’s back. With no parents and no Jane. After years of being alone.

With a car. With an apartment. With a job. With a colleague who, after all the annoying habits and comments, cared enough about her dignity to help her in a discreet way (who cared enough to help her at all). With a kooky reclusive biology professor she had to decide whether or not she could forgive. With a nephew she could still be there for, and a brother-in-law that wanted nothing to do with her. With a fuck-tonne of fresh trauma to pile on top of the rest.

With Paul.

And with no clue what to do about that.

*****

_Holy shit._

_Okay. Okay. I’m… in Emma’s apartment. I hope. Not some random stranger’s house, that’d be weird._

Paul blinked a couple of times, then looked down.

_Holy shit, yup, okay, that’s Emma, that’s definitely her. Oh fuck, she’s asleep, okay calm down, calm down. Is she wearing anything? AM I?_

_Nope. No clothes, okay. Maybe take the hand off her back, that might be a little too much. Wait! No, if I move, that’ll wake her up. Put the hand back down. Gently does it. There we go, okay. Okay._

_Wow. Okay. So I appear to have slept with Emma._

_I... slept... with Emma._

_And we weren’t drunk._

_And she’s still touching me. She hasn’t… rolled over, or… turned away. Has she been there all night? Wow, okay, this is… nice. I mean, last night was… wow. And this? I wonder how long I can get away with just… not moving. Or would waking her up be…? No, no I should let her sleep, it’s Sunday._

_Ted can never hear about this._

Paul’s eyes swept over Emma’s room. It was small, but it wasn’t cramped. The light blue wallpaper gave the room an openness, and the bed was pressed up against the wall by the window, making the space feel a little bigger. If Paul tilted his head, he’d probably get a glimpse of the sky from underneath the curtains, but he was afraid that if he moved away from Emma, it’d wake her up. Instead, he stayed as still as possible, contemplating his surroundings. There was a trail of clothes strewn across the floor, leading from the bed to the door. He had a funny feeling it continued into the living area, given that there was no sign of his shirt.

He had no clue what the time was, and his iPhone was probably in his jacket pocket, which, if he remembered correctly, was currently resting on the back of the couch. Or on the floor beside it. Honestly, the last thing he was paying attention to at that point was where he put his jacket. 

There was no clock in the room, at least not one that was visible from his current position. The walls were mostly bare, but the table to his left, behind the sleeping Emma, and the dresser beyond it were both covered in photo frames. Lakes, mountains, city skylines, he could even make out a few animals, but not a single person in sight. Each picture looked like they could have been featured in a travel brochure, but Paul suspected (and marvelled at the thought) that Emma had taken them herself.

The door to the wardrobe at the foot of the bed was slightly ajar, and a flash of green Beanies apron was visible through the gap. Paul imagined her coming home, fed up with annoying customers and irritating colleagues, and chucking it in there with as little care as possible. He could picture the look on her face. It made him smile.

He brought his hand up to the one resting on his chest, stroking it as softly as he could. It didn’t seem real. After everything, he was there, lying in bed on a Sunday morning with the barista from Beanies. She wasn’t afraid of him. And, waking up to her with him, warm, comfortable and at ease, he wasn’t afraid of himself. There was nothing to be afraid of. They were safe.

He placed his hand on hers. She moved.

_Oh shit, I woke her up._

He considered taking his hands off her, until a thumb pressed against the nails on his right hand. He acknowledged the pressure with his own, and kept his hands where they were.

He stayed still. So did she. For a long time. At least, that’s what it felt like. Long enough for Paul to wonder if she’d gone back to sleep. Maybe she was waiting for him to say something. He could try to make a joke, but there was always the chance that that would get him kicked out, so perhaps not. He didn’t even know if she _was_ awake. _Huh… why not lead with that? Occam’s razor or some shit, right? Wait, what was Occam’s razor? Probably not this, but I’m doing it anyway._

“You awake?” he asked, quietly enough that if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t disturb her.

“Yeah,” was her reply. It sounded uncertain. _Oh no. Oh dear. Oh, I did something wrong._

“What are you thinking?” Paul wondered if that was a little too invasive, but he needed to know.

“Just…” Her hand moved out from under his, sending a wave of dread through him. He had fucked up. He didn’t know how, but he had. That is, until her hand repositioned itself to rest on his collar bone. “…Stuff.” He stayed silent, hoping she would continue. She did. “Stuff like… like the past decade. Like Zoey. Like Professor Hidgens. Like my family.”

One of those things was not like the others. “What about Zoey?”

“Oh right, I didn’t tell you. Yeah, she gave me this bag of second-hand winter clothing, asked me to take it to goodwill for her, but everything just _happened_ to be my size and all the stuff I had up ‘till now was freezing and shit. And it’s like… she has irritated the fuck out of me for what, half a year? And I _know_ I annoyed her too. And then she goes and does something like that. Like, even if it wasn’t intentional, which I doubt because the girl is about as subtle as a firework… it wouldn’t matter. It was nice, _too_ nice, and if I tell you that I didn’t feel like I deserved it, you better promise you won’t contradict me on that.”

“I promise,” he mumbled. The whole mood was beginning to make sense to him.

“And I don’t know, since then I just keep thinking about all this other shit. And then you came along, and at first I didn’t question it, but now… I don’t know, it’s like I realised I have no clue what the fuck I’m doing here, but if I’m gonna get it right, I’m gonna have to do better.”

“Right, uh…” _Be supportive_. “I understand.” _Be more supportive_. “But for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great.” Emma lifted her head up and pushed herself down slightly, rolling more onto her front so she could face him. It still made his heart flutter, to have her so close to him. He tried not to breathe out too deeply in case he had morning breath. Her eyes were soft and almost pleading.

“Really?” Her voice was undoubtedly vulnerable. Paul brought up his hand to her face, caressing her cheek with his thumb.

“Definitely.”

An unspoken recognition passed between them in the silence that followed his answer. They closed their eyes, and pulled one another in for a kiss in perfect unison. Paul’s hand moved to the back of her head, fingers intertwining with her hair, as his other pressed against the skin of her back. The grip on his shoulder tightened, and Emma shifted herself to free her other arm from her side, using it to push herself on top of him. She pulled him with her, until both of them were sitting, the kiss remaining unbroken. The duvet had slipped off of them, sending a chill over the skin of his back. He held her closer, grateful for her warmth.

It had to be impossible that only two weeks had passed since that dreadful morning spent in _fucking Clivesdale_. This was a world away from that. This was an entirely different reality, one with colour and life and contentment. 

A fresh start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in an increasing state of panic for the past week and I don't see it letting up any time soon, so if my writing feels a little off, that'll be why (and on the same note, sorry if I don't reply to comments - I am still reading them and I really appreciate them, I'm just drained, and conveying what I mean is difficult at the minute). Also should I put a tag or a warning or something about the nudity or the kissing? Because it's not like it's obscene or graphic or anything, but I still don't really know the rules about this sort of thing.  
> Also, the second to last paragraph was going to finish _"...entirely different reality, one with colour and life and contentment. And boobs."_ but I chickened out because it didn't feel like something Paul would say, and more like something _I_ would say.  
> And yes, I know that's not what Occam's razor is, but Paul doesn't


	16. Just... Sunday, I guess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday. And... stuff that happened on Sunday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter that was going to be longer, but the other two parts I was going to include were too vague in my mind for me to be able to write yet, so I stuck with this. I also wanted to step away from Paulkins content for a bit, so I did... for about as long as I could help myself. (:  
> (The first part is more like true 3rd person rather than 3rd person following a character's perspective, which I usually go for)

_“…My love, leave yourself behind, beat inside me, I'll be with you…”_

The last note faded into the stillness of the morning. They stopped swaying, arms wrapped around one another.

Alice had had another rough night.

Sleep was always more difficult for her in Hatchetfield. They had started a routine of sneaking Deb in through the window at night, then sneaking her back out in the morning to knock on the door and be let in by Bill. Her presence was soothing, and the security that came with the proximity at least helped her get to sleep, even if she didn’t stay that way all night. There had been a couple of close calls, but Deb professed an aptitude for hide and seek growing up, and they were yet to be caught.

Even with her girlfriend’s arms wrapped around her, the nightmares kept coming. She would wake up in the small hours of the morning consumed by fear and guilt. Often, it would be a slow awakening, with Alice struggling to tell the difference between the dark of her dreams and the dark of her bedroom. A couple of times, though, she had thrashed about, screaming and yelling, tear-streaked and exhausted. Deb would try and calm her, but the light in the hallway would appear in the cracks of the door, and she’d have to slip out of the covers and tuck herself away under the bed before Bill found her there. Leaving her girlfriend’s side was painful, but she knew that Bill would do just as good a job – better, even. His was the face that cropped up most frequently in her nightmares, and seeing him alive and well was the most effective way of calming her down.

The moment Bill left for church that morning, the two of them sat down at the kitchen table, mugs of tea in hand, and talked. About what happened. About the nightmares. About whether Alice coming back to Hatchetfield was a good idea. The last point was what took up the majority of their conversation. The lines were becoming increasingly blurred between what was healthy and what would just exacerbate things. Alice argued that being closer to Deb and her Dad, and being able to see that both of them were okay, gave her a soundness of mind that she didn’t have access to in Clivesdale (during the day, at least). Deb countered this by pointing out that not only did she need sleep, but that maybe the nightmares were her mind's way of telling her that it was too much to be back so soon. They went back and forth for a while, until Alice said something Deb wasn’t about to question.

_“I can’t lose you guys again. I can’t.”_

Tears had started to bead in the corner of her eyes, and her voice was pleading, desperate. As much as Deb wanted to try and convince her that that wouldn’t happen if she stopped coming back, she couldn’t. The line had been drawn, and the only other option was a compromise.

When Alice got back to Clivesdale the next day, she was to talk to her Mom about going to therapy.

Deb made her promise. Alice hesitated. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with therapy, and she didn’t doubt that it could help her, but the thought of trying to explain to another human being what had happened…

She would have to lie about the debriefing of course, but she had time to get her story straight. Alice agreed, slipping down from her chair to pull Deb into a tender embrace.

After a few moments basking in each other’s warmth, they inhaled in unison.

_“…My love, leave yourself behind…”_

*****

_“Well, why don’t I drive you? I’ve got some cleaning to do, I could come meet you when I’m done?”_

_“Paul, my car is right outside.”_

_“So? It’s_ your _turn to walk_ me _home. Besides, I don’t know the way from here, I could get lost.”_

_“Well that’s a heap of bullshit… but okay. What’s there to do at Lakeside, anyway?”_

_“We could go see a movie? My treat.”_

_“You’re on.”_

In spite of herself, she had to admit it was cute, the way he’d been so eager to find any excuse to hang out with her that day. Something had changed in him, literally overnight. Under different circumstances, Emma might have assumed it was simply down to how some people are in a better mood after having sex, but she knew it was more than that. The whole time the two of them sat across from each other in that bar, every other look he’d thrown her way was singed with worry, almost as if he expected her to get up and run any moment. The way he’d kissed her outside her apartment, hesitant, cautious, measured. The genuine _“Are you sure?”_ he’d whispered just inches away from her face. Even before that night, she could remember clear as day the fear in his eyes outside of Beanies. _“Emma… I just want to make sure that you’re really okay with me. Because being near you, I just keep thinking about… I just want you to be safe.”_ How nervous he had been around her. How she was always the one to initiate any form of physical contact, all the way up until that kiss. After that, every touch was calculated and polite. It was only after they’d been sitting on her couch for a while that Paul had started to relax a little, meeting every step she took with a small progression of his own; holding her closer when she held him, kissing her neck when she stroked his, trying to remove her shirt when she pulled his over his head (it ended up getting caught halfway in a mess of hair and arms, the giggling hadn’t helped them detangle her any quicker). Slowly, he had eased into about as comfortable a state as she believed he was capable of, finally allowing his desire to get the better of his cautious reservation (something she went on to be _very_ grateful for). A part of her had been afraid that he would freeze back up again by morning, but Emma had been relieved to find him still thawed. She suspected there was still doubt hidden in there somewhere, and she wouldn’t pressure it out of him, but at least he was able to feel relaxed around her. And, with any luck, he _would_ be around her.

Emma wanted to wait, only for a little while, before trying to tackle the _“Where is this going?”_ question that she had mercifully been spared from confronting her entire life (although, it would’ve been useful to have some experience). Just until things made a bit more sense. She didn’t know what she wanted yet, and the thought of having “the talk” was too ridiculous to even consider. She had no clue what he wanted either, or what he expected. She worried that agreeing to hang out again so soon would be leading him on, but she didn’t see how. She _liked_ spending time with him. Eventually they would have to have some form of serious discussion, but until then, Emma allowed herself to be excited to see him again.

Swinging her shopping bag, she headed in the direction of the cineplex. By some miracle, she had managed to find a costume that not only fit, but wasn’t from Toy Zone, a kid-centric store that for some reason still stocked Halloween costumes for adults (a shop she had never been in before, but after only a couple of minutes came to the conclusion that everything in there was a total rip-off). The fabric was also quite thick, so she hoped it wouldn’t be too cold; the costume was a dress, and therefore not necessarily ideal for late October. Either way, her arms looked great in it, so she bought it. The only other competitor she had found was a Maleficent costume, and given that she actually _was_ invited to the party, she didn’t think it would work.

Turning a corner, Emma caught sight of the back of Paul’s head as he spoke to a teenage ticket-seller who appeared to be half-asleep. She watched him tuck two tickets into his back pocket, nod to the teenager, then retrieve his phone. He typed something out and walked over to a nearby bench without looking up. The moment he sat down, a buzzing sound came from her purse. She fished out her phone and opened the text.

_“Sorry, no silent movies. The only options were a kids movie and a spy flick, so I went with the spy flick, hope that’s okay.”_

_“Awesome,”_ she responded, glancing up at him as she typed. _“What time?”_

_“Got like an hour until it actually starts. Where are you?”_

_“11 o’clock.”_ She watched the confusion flash across his face.

_“Wdym? It’s 1:27?”_

_“OMG look up.”_

He did as he was told, eyes scanning the mall for a second before noticing her, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, a few yards away. He mimed an _“Oohhhh”_ before grinning and getting up. They met in the middle of the open space, with Emma shaking her head at him. Paul gestured to the bag.

“Get anything good? It better be scary.” He leant forward slightly, trying to look inside. Emma jerked the bag away from him, hiding it behind her back.

“No peeking! And no, I wouldn’t say scary… at least, not in the traditional sense.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it.” They smiled at each other and turned to face the walkway Emma had just come from. “So, uh, we’ve got some time to kill before the movie starts, is there anything you want to do in the meantime?"

Emma brought up the mental log of shops she’d been making since she arrived. Lakeside mall was a new addition to Hatchetfield, with construction finishing just three years before Emma came back. She’d only been in a couple of times since, and even then had been so invested in not becoming familiar with the place that she didn’t really know what it had to offer. It was pretty much what she expected, just a bunch of bland, run-of-the-mill chain shops with aggravated, underpaid staff and drab, neglected interiors. At a glance, the constant parade of shoppers almost tricked her into thinking the mall was better than it really was, but later on she realised that was purely because it was only a fraction better than what the rest of Hatchetfield had to offer, so of _course_ everyone flocked there. One thing that had stuck in her mind, however, was a surprisingly pleasant smell that crossed her just as she left Macy’s.

“I think I passed a Cinnabon on my way over here, we could go there – I quite like the idea of not having to make the coffee for a change.”

“Cinnabon it is. Y’know, I haven’t been to a Cinnabon since there was one back on the high street, I don’t know if you remember that?”

“Uh… I think so? Oh yeah, I remember being really disappointed when I came back and it wasn’t there, I think that was actually one of the places I was gonna apply for a job in. So, I take it that was one of your old haunts?” Emma made a mental note to change Paul’s contact in her phone from _“Black coffee”_ to _"Cinnaboi”._

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he said with a slight chuckle. He rubbed the back of his neck a little and winced. “It, uh, it used to be where the debate team hung out after every meeting.” 

_The what now?_ “Wait a sec, _you_ were on the debate team?”

“Is it really that surprising?” Paul looked embarrassed, so she did her best to dial back her surprise.

“No, no I guess I can see it, I just never really pegged you for an extra-curricular type of person.”

“Oh no, I was only in it for the buns.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then.” They shared a brief chuckle.

“So, were you never in any clubs back in high school? I mean, I never would’ve had _you_ down for a theatre kid.”

“Oh God no, no I more liked the thought of missing classes for the sake of rehearsal.” That was true, but it was also definitely easier to say than _Jane was never into Drama, so I thought if I could do something good that she didn’t, my parents might actually be proud of me for once_. “Although, when I was 16 I _did_ start up Hatchetfield High’s unofficial Smoke Club, which I’m _pretty_ sure is still going.” 

Paul laughed. “Wow, that’s… that’s quite a legacy. Emma Perkins – inspiring stoned teenagers since the early 2000’s.”

“You better believe it,” she said, shooting him a finger gun and a wink.

By that point, they had made it to the Cinnabon. A large group of people were clustered outside, each one looking either annoyed or moderately concerned. They held back slightly upon seeing a couple of security guards speaking to a couple of staff members, giving each other a confused look as they sat down on a bench in front of the store. After a couple of minutes, another officer came out, pushing a man in a suit in front of him by his hands, which appeared to be handcuffed behind his back. The man’s face and chest were coated in a thick layer of icing, and the officer was mumbling to him in a stern manner. Emma was just able to make out the phrase “ _We’ll see you court ordered for that, you sicko,”_ as they passed. She was just about to suggest that they go somewhere else, when a woman in a Cinnabon uniform called the attention of the crowd, and informed them that it was safe to go inside.

This was far from reassuring, but the smell of cinnamon was enticing enough to override any concerns the pair might have had. They filed in along with the rest of the crowed, joining the queue behind a teen in a leather jacket, who was holding the hand of a girl with pigtails. A few seconds after they joined, having already resumed their generic chit-chat, out of the corner of Emma’s eye she noticed the kid snap her head around to stare at her, switching her intense gaze between Emma and Paul every couple of seconds. The teen remained oblivious to this, focusing on the illuminated signs above the counter. She could tell Paul had picked up on it too, judging by the uncomfortable way he shifted his weight. The girl seemed innocent enough, maybe younger than she looked given how, even though she was nearly the same height as Emma, her features had a delicate roundness to them that made her unquestionably child-like. There was an intelligence to her eyes, a graveness that hinted at some kind of profound level of wisdom. Emma dismissed that thought, instead telling herself that the girl probably just thought she recognised them from somewhere. By that time, the conversation had dwindled into an awkward silence, and Emma had just decided to try talking to the girl in a casual way to try and figure out what she was thinking, when her attention was finally called away from them. Paul appeared to relax slightly (Emma hadn’t realised his posture had become tense until then), but then the leather jacket-ed teen shouted, making them both jump.

“Hey, asshole! That’s enough.” The girl’s staring meant that neither of them even noticed the slight commotion going on at the front of the line: the woman from before was standing behind the cash register looking flustered, and in front of her, now glaring at the angry teen, was none other than that dick-head regular from Beanies who was banging Nora. Evidently, his assholery wasn’t reserved for Emma specifically, and the man was just _like that_. Already, the teen and the girl had made their way into her good books.

“Excuse me?” The man looked half-amused, half-shocked. Clearly he wasn’t accustomed to people calling him out on his bullshit.

The teen stepped out of line and crossed his arms assertively. “Listen, buddy, why don’t you do yourself a favour and get in line like everyone else, or you and me are gonna have a problem, you hear?” The girl started tugging at his sleeve, whispering something. He muttered back a gentle “Just a minute, banana.”

“Oh are we? What are you gonna do, tough guy? You gonna snap your fingers at me?” To be fair, the teen’s get up did scream Danny Zuko. He laughed passive-aggressively, waving his finger in the air.

“Good one. But no, I was thinking I could just, I don’t know, kick your ass? If that’s okay with you.” The girl’s sleeve tugging became more frantic. The man folded his arms and flashed him a satisfied smile.

“Why, of _course_ it is. And _hello there_ , officer!” he said, face plastered with a shit-eating grin. Paul and Emma turned around. Sure enough, the security guard that had dragged out the man from before had returned. The teen – Ethan, Emma had heard from the girl’s pleading – hung his head in frustration, breathing out an annoyed _"Fuck’s sake”_. He turned to face him, holding up his hands apologetically.

“Look officer, I was just-“

“I don’t want to hear it, kid, I want you both out.” Emma was tempted to step in and vouch for him, but the guy did make a serious threat, and even if it was deserved, the officer was unlikely to be convinced.

Ethan laughed incredulously. “Wait a sec, _he_ was-“

“That’s enough – do you wanna get arrested? No, didn’t think so. Out, now.” He pointed towards the exit. “If I see either of you in this mall again, you’ll be in serious trouble.”

Ethan shook his head, then held out his hand for the girl. “C’mon Hannah, let’s go.” Hannah took it, fixing her eyes back on Paul and Emma as they walked past. Emma took the opportunity to give her a sympathetic smile, and surprisingly, she returned it, giving them a small wave as she jogged to keep up with Ethan. 

As they watched them leave, Paul bent his head slightly to whisper, “Big day for Cinnabon,” which elicited a chuckle from Emma.

“Yeah, more like sin-abon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to type out the whole song, but it's My Love by Sia (if you can't tell, I'm a big fan) which I figured suited the soft vibe I associate with Alice and Deb  
> I'd have written more about how the rest of their day went, but I thought it would end up being rather mundane, so I'll probably recap small bits in the next chapter.  
> 


	17. Take me back (when things were bad)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the past die. Kill it if you have to. Nah, just kidding.  
> Paul and Emma are determined to move on.  
> Healthy doses of cliché and angst and fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly just hope this makes sense. Blockquotes used for the same flashback (what happened when Paul and Emma left Lakeside) just spread out. Basically all the normal text is on Monday the 29th, the italic sections are the Sunday (28th) in the previous chapter. I really don't know. You know when you're stressed about your education, relapse your eating disorder and the only person you talk to in your house moves out, so rather than try and face your problems you waste a whole day writing something you don't even know other people will get what you were going for because your brain is such a mess you just don't know anything anymore? Enjoy!

Something felt off. Something was wrong. Paul was wide awake, but there was no nightmare that he could remember to explain it. The time blinked at him from the alarm clock on his bedside table. Monday, 2:34 am. They had never woken him up so early, so something else had to be wrong.

He was lying on his side, arms wrapped around a sleeping Emma. The height difference had its benefits, one of which was how perfectly she fit against the contours of his body as they slept. She was facing away from him, back flat against his chest, with one of her hands gripping the wrist of the arm he had curled over her.

…Gripping?

Paul lifted his head slightly. It wasn’t enough to see her face, but the movement confirmed that she had a firm hold on him. He poised there for a moment, trying to tell if she was also awake. Perhaps she had heard something, perhaps she had realised something important that needed addressing. 

She twitched.

It was only a slight movement. Not exactly a jolt, more like a slight flinch, but it was all of her; the grip on his arm flexed with it, her heel pressed lightly against his shin, her head turned a little more into the pillow. Paul waited. After a few moments, she did it again. And then again just a few seconds later, accompanied by a soft whimpering sound coming from the back of her throat. _Oh._

Paul wasn’t sure whether to wake her up or wait, but for what he didn’t know. There was a strong possibility that the nightmare was about him, and that waking up so close to him in a dark, unfamiliar room would just frighten her more. On the other hand, leaving her trapped in her own mind and at the mercy of her own fears seemed… cold. 

As carefully as he could manage, he worked his wrist out of her grasp. She relinquished him easily enough, clutching at the covers instead. He reached over her head, careful not to jostle her, and switched on the bedside lamp. Part of him hoped that would be enough to wake her up, but it wasn’t. It did, however, make her more agitated, and her knees curled up to her chest. In the light his eyes were yet to adjust to, Paul was able to see her scrunched-up face, and the way the tendons on the back of her balled-up fist had become more prominent. Reluctantly, he placed his hand on her shoulder, careful to only touch the fabric of the t-shirt she had borrowed, and gave it a tentative brush, whispering her name. When she didn’t respond, he repeated it at a more normal volume.

Emma gasped, bolting into an upright position. Paul had to lean backwards to avoid being headbutted. He shifted away from her, letting go of her arm, and watched as she tried to get her bearings.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, it was just dream, everything’s fine,” he soothed. Her breath was jagged and uneven, and hitched slightly when she brought her hands up to rub her face and comb her fingers through her hair. Paul realised that his hand was still suspended in mid-air, and he shoved it behind himself before she saw it.

She turned around to check the time and let out an irritated huff. “God, I’m sorry, it’s too early for this bullshit.” Emma kicked herself backwards until she could lean against the headboard. Her eyes stayed closed as she titled her head back. She sat still for a moment before she opened them, giving him an exhausted look.

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about it. I… I get them all the time.”

“I know.” Her voice cracked. _Right._ Paul thought back to the conversation they’d had just a few hours ago, starting after Emma had asked him to pull over on their way back from Lakeside Mall. It was the most that either of them had talked about the almost-apocalypse since they were still in it. He remembered the agreement they had made. 

She held out her hand for him. He stared at it.

Emma rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t about you, I promise.”

Paul shifted himself closer to her, taking her hand. She pulled his arm over her shoulder and wrapped hers around his chest, nestling her head under his chin. “Which one was it?”

“The one in the basement.” That couldn’t just be a coincidence, not after the plan she had made for that day.

“Emma, what if it’s too soon? It’s not too late to-“

“No, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine. I can’t leave this any longer. These dreams won’t go away on their own.”

“Okay,” he whispered, unable to say anything else. He pressed a kiss against the top of her head, and she turned to face him with closed eyes. He took the hint, bringing a hand up to her jaw before kissing her properly. When she pulled away from him, he gave her a reassuring smile. She returned it. “Let’s get some sleep,” she said, patting his chest before rolling over and switching off the light. Paul slid down back under the covers, and felt the warmth return to him as Emma snuggled up to his side.

“Goodnight,” he whispered into the darkness.

“Goodnight,” the darkness whispered back.

*****

“You sure are in a good mood today.”

Paul _was_ in a good mood, but being informed as much by Bill with a sudden pat on the shoulder was, for some reason, momentarily disconcerting. He took the time to finish reading to the end of a paragraph in Mr. Davidson’s Weekly Hatchetfield Accounts Memo (what happens when an 80’s music fan is allowed to name things) before acknowledging him.

“Yeah, I guess I am… is that okay?” he asked with a smirk.

“Okay? Of course! Drab morning like this, it’s nice to see someone looking so chipper.” They smiled to one another before turning back to their computers. Having sensed a sarcastic shadow behind him, Paul began counting backwards in his head. _3… 2… 1…_

“It’s weird.” _There it is_. He saw it coming a mile away, but Paul still couldn’t hold in an irritated sigh.

“Why is it weird, Ted?” There was no expression in his voice, just monotonous apathy.

“It’s Monday, Paul. Monday.” Paul raised his eyebrows expectantly. _“Monday.”_

“Yeah, I’m aware of that Ted, I’m waiting for you to start making sense.”

“Oh come on! What, never heard of Garfield, huh? Mondays are the absolute worst, and under no circumstance is anyone ever happy, _especially_ for no reason…” Paul didn’t like where this was going. Thankfully, Bill stepped in.

“Oh, just leave it, you always have to be so negative. Paul, can you check your printer tray? I’ve been trying to print off this document for a while, I think it connected to yours again.”

“Yeah, sure thing.” Paul turned himself a little more than necessary as he retrieved the report, hoping that if he was fully facing away from Ted, he might give up. He was wrong; when he turned back to Bill to hand over the paper, Ted was right there, having crept closer and bent down to make his face level with Paul’s. As an 18-year-old casual viewer of Doctor Who, Weeping Angels had creeped him out more than they had any right to given that they were fictional, but the striking resemblance meant that the very real office asshole had become genuinely sinister in an impressively short space of time.

“Jesus, Ted!” Paul exclaimed as he jumped, almost knocking a pencil cup off his desk. “Could you not? I’ve got stuff to do.”

Naturally, this did nothing to dissuade him. He moved back into an upright position but took a step closer, placing a hand on each of Paul’s shoulders. “So did the, uh… _Latte Hottay_ ever text you back?” Paul knew the exact face Ted would be pulling as he asked that. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, and for the first time ever, was glad that Ted was standing directly _behind_ him. Unfortunately, he could also see out of the corner of his eye that Bill was still watching. He knew there would be no intervention (they’d worked with Ted long enough to know when to just let him get it out of his system), but Bill would definitely register the blush. He didn’t really have a problem with _Bill_ knowing, it’s just that his personal life had always been relatively mundane and uneventful, and he was worried Bill would make a bigger deal out of recent events than necessary.

“Uh, yeah, she did.” He was going to say more, but keeping his answers short seemed like a good way to give Ted less to work with joke-wise.

“Well? What’d she say?” Oddly enough, the question felt genuine; there was no hint of teasing or malice. Maybe the gossip was intriguing enough to distract him, but Paul wasn’t about to be lulled into a false sense of security. “She said she found a costume, for Wednesday.”

“So she _is_ coming, after all…?”

“Yep.” _Please be enough, please be enough._

“But you haven’t actually seen her in person?” _Today? Yes. In the last 5 minutes…?_

“Nope.” The lie was convincing enough, but Ted was… well, Ted.

“So are you going to Beanies today?” _Damn._

“No.”

“Oh yeah, why not?” He was backed into a corner, and the only way out was to tell the truth.

“Emma isn’t working today.”

“Oh, and she, uh… told you that over text?” _This is a trap, this is a trap._

“Yeah.” 

“…Right. Well, I don’t believe you.” _Shocker._ “In fact, you wanna know what I think? I think you’re in such a _good mood_ because you two _f-“_

“Ted, Mr. Davidson said he thinks there might be a problem with his email, could you take a look at it? I’ve got some stuff I need to take care of,” Melissa interrupted, holding up the large stack of paper in her arms. Ted gave a dramatic sigh, finally releasing his grip on Paul’s shoulders.

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“Fine,” he breathed, skulking off in the direction of Mr. Davidson’s office. Paul mouthed a thank you to Melissa, who smiled and nodded, walking off in the opposite direction. He watched her leave, impressed by her impeccable timing, and saw her unceremoniously dump the stack of papers back in the draw she must have scooped them out of. _Nice touch_. He turned back to face his monitor, having forgotten Bill, who was staring at his screen with poorly feigned indifference. 

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Paul rolled his eyes. “Go on, ask me."

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“Did you have a nice weekend?” The question was innocuous with just a hint of suggestion. 

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The smile came so naturally that Paul didn’t even think about supressing it. “Actually I did. I met Emma for drinks on Saturday, and yesterday we went to the cineplex after she bought her costume.”

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Bill’s face lost its innocence, and his more mischievous, gossipy nature came to the surface, mouth twisting into a smirk. “See anything good?” For a fraction of a second, Paul was shocked – then he remembered the movie.

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“Just a spy film. It was actually pretty good in terms of like, subverting genre stereotypes, so I thought it might go on the blog if I get a chance.” Bill’s face was still eager. “And Emma seemed to like it. Apparently her dad was a massive James Bond fan, so she pretty much grew up watching stuff like that.”

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That little bit of info appeared to satisfy him. “Well, it sounds like you two had fun.” He turned back to his work with a polite nod.

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“What happened next?” Ted asked.

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_Oh, for the love of-_ “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Mr. Davidson?” Paul asked, twisting in his seat to face the smug bastard that was standing behind him, amused grin tweaking the edges of his moustache.

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Ted shrugged. “He’s on the phone.” _Perfect_. “So, c’mon, finish the story! Get to the interesting stuff already, so I can get back to work.”

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“Oh, for God’s sake Ted, nothing happened! I drove her home, she had a paper to work on. There’s no ‘story’, okay?” Paul was a terrible liar, but there were times when, if he was annoyed enough, he was magically gifted the ability for a short while. His miniature outburst appeared to do the trick; Ted slumped his shoulders in defeat.

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“You’re so lame,” he mumbled, disappearing back around the corner of the office. Paul turned back to face the right way, still listening. When he heard the door click shut in the distance, Paul glanced at Bill (who had resumed his work) before fixing his eyes on the memo.

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“We went to Oakleigh park for a few hours and I cooked her dinner.” Bill’s jaw dropped. “Well don’t look so surprised!”

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“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologised, collecting himself. He threw a look past Paul. “ _You_ won’t tell Ted, will you?” _Oh my God, Charlotte!_ Paul didn’t hear her hang up the call she had been on for most of the morning, and consequently didn’t notice her listening intently to what must have been the majority of the whole conversation. Paul knew Charlotte, she wasn’t eavesdropping, she just liked to be a part of _'All the chit-chat'_ , as she phrased it, and probably didn’t even consider that it might be private. Which, in all fairness, it wasn’t – only when it comes to Ted. Fortunately, this was a concept that even Charlotte (who had officially moved in with him) was understanding of. She drew her fingers across her closed lips and mimed locking them shut.

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“Thanks,” said Paul.

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“Well, come on then,” she giggled excitedly, “Who invited who?”

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Her mood was surprisingly infectious, and Paul realised that he actually _wanted_ to talk about it. “Oh, uh, she invited me out on Saturday – we went to The Anchor,” he added, anticipating the question Bill looked as if he was about to ask. He responded with a hum of approval. “And I knew she was planning on going over to Lakeside Mall yesterday anyway, so I offered to drive her,” he finished with a shrug.

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Bill spoke up next. It was starting to get a little difficult having a single conversation in two directions. “What did you cook, anything nice? Paul, I _swear_ , if you made frozen pizzas-“

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“I made pasta, calm down! Chicken Alfredo, just like you taught me.” Bill’s mother hen instincts had kicked in enough times over the years to result in several cooking lessons, starting right around the week Bill’s divorce became official. It was a good excuse to hang out, plus it saved money on groceries, and Paul could see Bill needed something to distract him, at least for a short while. It was a handy skill to have, but that didn’t necessarily mean Paul used it often, given that he lived alone, and he wasn’t in the habit of keeping ingredients like nutmeg well-stocked in his kitchen. In fact, he went on a little shopping trip of his own before going to pick up Emma – just on the off-chance.

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“Well Paul, I’m impressed. But wait… did you say Oakleigh park?”

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“Yeah.”

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“Wasn’t that where the helicopter…?” Paul wasn’t sure if Bill trailed off or stopped talking. Armed officers, rotor blades, fire, sand and blood had taken control off his vision. Paul closed his eyes and forced his mind to recall the way the park looked the day before, bright, green, filled with smiling families and dogs and kite-flying children. The way Emma had laughed with him under the shelter of the bandstand when the rain had started. He opened his eyes. Bill’s forehead was creased in concern. He forced himself to smile.

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“Uh, yeah, it was. But y’know, we figured with the daylight and everything…” Bill’s face relaxed a bit, still a trace of worry clouding his features.

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“So how come Emma isn’t working today?” Charlotte’s change of subject was well-meaning. She wasn’t to know that the new subject wasn’t that far removed from the old one.

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“Oh, she’s, uh… she’s going to visit her biology teacher in one of his lectures, to try and maybe smooth things over.”

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“Oh… oh, well that’s…how _peachy_...” Her optimism was failing her. Paul had to think of something to lighten the mood. 

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“Oh, and there was this whole massive commotion over in the Cinnabon in Lakeside yesterday, some guy got arrested – either of you heard anything about it?”

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*****

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> _The car came to a stop. “Is everything okay?”_
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> _Emma barely heard the question. Her eyes were fixed on a sign up ahead. “We aren’t… in a rush to be anywhere, are we?”_
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> _“Uh… no? I mean, I’m free for the whole day. Why, what’s going on?” Emma pointed at the sign._
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> _“You wanna go in there?” The incredulity in his voice was crystal clear. She tore her eyes away from the words_ “Turn Right For Oakleigh Park” _to look at him. He didn’t seem afraid, merely curious… and perhaps a tad concerned._
> 
> _Emma shrugged. “I mean, it’s still bright out… the place will be full of regular people… I just thought, I don’t know… maybe it could be useful? Certainly seems like a better option than having to avoid a giant part of this already tiny town.” His expression hadn’t changed, so she started speaking faster. “We don’t have to, I just thought-“_
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> _“Okay.” Paul looked back at the sign and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s gotta happen at some point. Besides, we can leave any time. But… I’ll only do it on one condition.”_
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> _“What’s that?”_
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> ___“Will you come over for dinner?” Emma couldn’t help but laugh at that._
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> _“Sounds like a fair deal, so hell yeah,” she said with a smile. He nodded, a faint blush rising in his cheeks as he tried to supress the pleasure he appeared to gain from her answer. He started up the car without another word, following the sign’s directions. It was actually a stroke of genius, when she thought about it. It gave them something good to look forward to, which would probably make going back to that place a little easier to bear. Also, she had so far pictured Paul as a modern, bachelor-pad, apartment kind of guy, so walking him home to discover that he actually lived in a small house in a family-centric neighbourhood complete with flowerpots and a doormat made her very curious to see what the inside looked like._
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> _The car pulled into a parking space only a few feet away from the park's entrance. There weren’t many other cars there, but they could see through the rusting green gate that there was a decent amount of people. Paul and Emma gave each other a nod before getting out. The sky had started to cloud over, blocking out the sun in an ominous coincidence as they approached the gate. They stood facing it for a moment, uncertain._
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> _“Hey,” Paul spoke up, drawing her attention from the daunting scene in front of them. He held out his hand for her. “Together?” She didn’t know whether or not to take it, afraid that they were getting too close too fast. Sex is one thing, holding hands is another. But looking back at the park, Emma realised that this was beyond that, beyond them, beyond anything either of them had ever experienced. This was an obstacle that neither one would ever be prepared to face alone._ Fuck it.
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> _She put her hand in his. “Together,” she confirmed. They walked through the gate._
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*

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Emma allowed her mind to fixate entirely on that trip to Oakleigh park. With Paul at work, getting ready in her own apartment was more stressful than she anticipated. There was no one there to distract her from her fretting over what she would say when she was face to face with her old teacher. Giving up on trying to script some kind of honest speech to rattle off before he had a chance to say anything, Emma instead went over every detail of the day before again and again, every joke, every touch, every look that made her feel something she couldn’t quite describe.

Slowly accepting the odd sort of camaraderie that had blossomed between her and Zoey, when she had texted her about asking if someone else could cover her shift (no way was she going to Nora), Emma even informed her that she _'did the stupid cup-thing',_ and that she had spent most of the day with Paul. She had received a sickeningly enthusiastic reply after a few minutes, along with an inquiry as to whether she couldn’t come in because she was planning on having a hangover or being _'away from home'_. Despite how little she cared for Zoey’s suggestions, she realised that it was well-meaning, and even gave the real reason for her intended absence. Zoey had responded to that in a much more mature way, meaning that Emma surprisingly didn’t have to immediately regret telling her the truth. Her manager gladly gave her the day off, and even wished her good luck. And just like that, Zoey had officially transitioned from “barely tolerable” to “almost likeable” (Emma was too stubborn to admit to her being anything else).

Getting in the car to complete her errand made the whole thing a lot more real very quickly. Desperate not to chicken out, Emma dragged Oakleigh park to the front of her mind. It gave her a boost of confidence, to focus on the way she had felt when she had made her decision.

*

__

__

__

> _____ _
> 
> _Just like their trip to The Anchor, time passed impossibly quickly as they strolled through the park. It felt a lot safer than either of them expected, probably because they were actually able to see their surroundings, unlike on that night, when the sinister figures emerging from the darkness seemed to materialize out of thin air. The park felt like another world during the day, and it almost felt ridiculous that they should have been so hesitant before._
> 
> _As they made their way around the edges of the park, they talked. As they talked, they laughed, and as they laughed, they forgot about everything that was so dreadful in their lives. They were no longer two frightened people running for their lives, they were two lovers taking a relaxed afternoon walk._
> 
> _Eventually, once the boundaries of discomfort had been long since crossed, the conversation grew more serious. Paul told Emma how his parents had died a few years ago in a crash during their intended move to New York, and how he moved back into his childhood home when they passed, only to spend most nights of the week in Bill’s spare room a few months later, when he was in the crux of his separation. He told her how he met Bill, the full story this time, after getting the ever-loving shit kicked out of him by some stranger at a party, and how Bill had cleaned him up and took him home, staying until his parents made it home to make sure he was looked after. After that, they would meet every weekend, more often than Paul had ever hung out with anyone from Sycamore. Paul told her how much his parents had loved Bill, and how they visited their double-grave in Hatchetfield Cemetery together, every year, on the anniversary of their deaths._
> 
> _In turn, Emma told Paul about her family. The living family, that is. She had told him as much as he needed to hear about Jane, and she didn’t really want to talk about her parents in any serious capacity lest she come across as spiteful, so instead she told him about her brother-in-law and her nephew. How, when she had showed up at the funeral, Tom had refused to speak to her or even look at her the whole time. She had let it pass, figuring he was grieving, same as her. She did manage to have a conversation with Tim towards the end, who had introduced himself, asking if she was his aunt; he said he recognised her from a picture on their mantlepiece from a Perkins’ family Christmas when her and Jane were teens. She told Paul how Tom had seen them together and had called Tim away, telling him it was time to leave. She had started to walk away too when Tom called her back. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but being shouted at was not it. Tom yelled at her, tear-stained and red in the face, about how much pain she had caused her sister by pushing her away so much over the years. He had pointed his finger in her face and blamed her for being Jane’s one regret, and told her just how typical it was of her to try and waltz back into their lives once she was gone._ Too little too fucking late _was the last thing he’d said to her before storming off, leaving her to wipe her tears and get out, doing her best to ignore the stares of the other mourners. She told him about the phone call she made after she found Hidgens’s groceries, and how she wasn’t giving up that easily._
> 
> _By that time they had circled the park in its entirety and had switched to the gravelled paths that snake across it, weaving in and out of trees, and looping around the small pond in the centre of a large grassy clearing. They stopped in their tracks when they recognised where they were standing, walking over to the exact spot the helicopter had landed on. It felt surreal, that there should be no sign of what had happened._
> 
> _“I see this place a lot,” Emma heard herself say. She hadn’t meant to reveal that about herself, but once it was out in the open, she figured she might as well keep going. “I keep getting these nightmares. Sometimes we’re just running aimlessly through the park in the middle of the night, with those things singing all around us, but no matter how hard I try I still can’t see them. Not all of them are like that though. Sometimes, it’s that basement where you found me and Ted. And the professor is just…" She hated the vulnerability creeping into her voice, but she couldn't stop. She had to tell someone. "He hurts me. Like… like what happened in the theatre. And sometimes it’s not me, sometimes it’s you, and that doesn’t even make sense because you weren’t there, but I still have to watch it, over and over again.” Her throat burned with the strain of not crying. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Paul, afraid that she had said too much and that he would be upset. He was standing apart from her, a step or so behind. After a few moments, the most agonised sentence left his mouth._
> 
> _"How much did it hurt?"_
> 
> _It sounded like he'd wanted to ask that question for a while. There was no use sugar-coating it. “A lot.” She had to say something else before he felt the need to apologise. “I kept my eyes closed for most of it. Once I realised I wouldn’t be getting away, I figured I didn’t need to see anymore. I mean, I did peek a few times, and when I did, I kind of had these moments where the pain wasn’t so bad because actually looking at what was happening was just so unreal. It’s like my mind told the rest of me that this couldn’t possibly be happening, and that the pain wasn’t really there. Of course, that didn't exactly last long. If I had to guess... I'd say it took anywhere between five and ten minutes. Pretty sure I passed out though, so it's not like I can remember all of it. And just in case you were wondering, when I looked at you, all I could think was_ ‘I hope he can’t see this.’ _…could you?”_
> 
> _“No,” he gasped. She didn’t have to turn to know he was crying._
> 
> _“Good – it wasn’t pretty.” She wanted to ask him if he had nightmares too, but she worried that she was just hurting him by telling him about that day, that he didn't actually want to know any of it, and that asking him that question would just be cruel. Of course, that begged the question of what she could possibly say instead. She didn’t have to think about it for long before he spoke up, presumably after making a great effort to collect himself, given how much steadier his voice sounded._
> 
> _“Mine wake me up, every time, without fail.” So he_ did _have them. “And I just end up sitting in the dark trying to remember who the fuck I am.”_
> 
> _“What are they about?”_
> 
> _“You.”_
> 
> _“Wow, didn’t realise I was that scary.” The joke was a gamble, but the tension had become palpable and she had to do something to try and alleviate it, or they ran the risk of it becoming too much to bear. Luckily, he laughed, shaky and strangled, but laughter, nonetheless._
> 
> _“Oh, no, no not like that. I meant, uh, I see you in them a lot. And Bill sometimes. And…” She turned to look back at him for the first time since they came to a stop. Behind the vail of tears his eyes were filled with worry._
> 
> _“It’s okay, whatever it is, you can say it.” He nodded, looking off at the pond. Emma hadn’t noticed the rain, likely because it was still very light, barely more than a mist. She followed his gaze, watching how the droplets disturbed the water and pattered against the lily-pads, making them dance and sway on the surface in a gentle rhythm._
> 
> _“Whenever you’re in them, it’s like I’m completely numb. I can’t hear or feel anything, I can’t move. I mean, I_ do _move, but it's not my decision. It's like I'm being controlled, so all I can do is_ watch. _And your face… you look just like you did when we all woke up, when I touched your shoulder without thinking and you got scared. That_ fear… _and I can’t do anything to stop it. I can’t stop myself from hurting you, no matter how hard I try. And I try, I try so hard, but the only time I actually break through is when I wake up, thrashing about, and by that time it’s too late because I already watched myself…” He trailed off, unable to finish. She didn’t need him to finish his sentence to understand. So much of his behaviour towards her made complete sense. All she could do was marvel at how well he had held himself together considering the pain he must have been putting himself through._
> 
> _“Is that why you won’t come near me sometimes?” He replied with a nod, clasping his hand over his mouth to muffle a weak sob. “Paul, can I hug you?” It didn’t seem right to close the distance between them without permission after that. Her question seemed to stun him._
> 
> “Can you?” _His disbelief only made her more desperate._
> 
> _“If it’s okay with you, yes.” Reluctantly, he opened his arms, allowing her to run into them._
> 
> _*_
> 
> Emma stared at the college. She had taken the keys out of the ignition but placed her hands back on the wheel, gripping it tightly. She was determined not to think about what she was doing.
> 
> She forced herself out of the car. Locking it behind her, she walked briskly over to the entrance, relying on muscle-memory to take her where she needed to be as her mind continued to shroud itself in happier memories.
> 
> _____ _
> 
> _*_
> 
> _____ _
> 
> ____
> 
> __
> 
> __
>
>> ______
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _The rain picked up faster than they had anticipated, and they dashed for cover under the bandstand a dozen or so yards away. It didn’t make much of a difference; by the time they made it, both of them were already soaked to the skin. They looked at each other, out of breath, and burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. It was a monumental relief to have something trivial break up the torment of their confessions. She leaned against the wooden railing, staring out at the park, as water dripped from the ends of her hair onto her hands. Paul did the same, which couldn’t have been comfortable given how far he had to bend down the rest his elbows on the plank._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _They had come a long way in only a few hours._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“You need to promise me something, okay?” she called over the sound of the rain._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Oh, uh, okay?”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“No more trying to spare my feelings. If there’s a problem, we need to be honest about it, or this isn’t going to work.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“And what is ‘this’, exactly?” She looked over at him. He seemed hopeful, but in a serious,_ Paul _sort of way._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“This is…”_ exactly what I was hoping to put off clarifying. _“This is something good. But I meant what I said this morning – I’ve got to do better. There’s some stuff I need to sort out in my life, things I need to fix, and when I’ve done that, then we can figure out what ‘this’ is. And until then, if you’re looking for a word to describe ‘this’, I guess you could say we’re_ intimate.”
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Intimate, got it.” He gave her a thumbs up, which she reciprocated with an eye-roll. “Let me know if you need any help, uh,_ fixing _things.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Will do.” A thought occurred, one that she was too optimistic in that moment to dismiss. “In fact, I’m gonna start tomorrow.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Oh.” Paul was taken aback. “Oh, right, okay. What did you have in mind?”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“I’m gonna meet with Professor Hidgens.” She took his silence for a stunned one. “So you let me know if you’re free after work and I’ll let you know how it goes.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Wow, okay, I will… but are you sure?”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _Emma looked back at where the helicopter had been. “Absolutely positive.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Y’know I’m really proud of you.” That compliment took her by surprise. She looked back at Paul. His eyes were filled with an adoration that made her heart somehow feel both heavier and lighter at the same time. Without thinking, she placed a hand on the side of his face and kissed him. He straightened up slightly, hands threading through her open jacket to secure themselves on her waist. Petrichor-laced wind swirled around them, carrying with it a delicate, warming rhythm. She pulled away, trying to gauge how he felt about what they both sensed coming. She could find no doubt or pain or even irritation in his features._ Well, you’ve changed your fucking tune. _She recalled his account of how his friend described the phenomenon, how it just felt completely normal. It really did; in that moment, she’d never felt closer to anyone. Nothing could have been more natural than their duet._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> “Oh, turn your lamps down low, keep the light so dim that you can't see what's out there ahead of you. My dear, there are secrets here – I will carry them home, carry them home.”
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _They moved to the centre of the bandstand as the music swelled._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> “If only I could break the chain of disappointments weighing me down, shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings whenever you're not around. I won't be afraid of all the things I've wanted; It's the fear, and not the ghost, that leaves me haunted, haunted.”
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _Emma moved her hands to Paul’s shoulders. His voice was different than she remembered it. There was an emotion to it that hadn’t been their before. This was unmistakably, entirely him. They started swaying._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> “See what a life you lead: you're an anchor for all the heaviest regrets inside of you. Escape; we collect mistakes – I will carry them home, carry them home.”
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _The harmony was blissfully sweet. Emma forgot about their rain-soaked clothes and fear, strong enough to dismiss the anxious voice that told her she was being controlled. She knew, without a doubt, that those words were their own, that it was her_ choice _to sing, to dance, to share that idyllic moment with the only person it made sense to share it with._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> “If only I could break the chain of disappointments weighing me down, shake off the ghosts that whisper warnings whenever you're not around. I won't be afraid of all the things I've wanted; It's the fear, and not the ghost, that leaves me haunted, haunted.”
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _The music faded, leaving behind the symphony of the storm. She looked out at the rain, now crashing down around their sanctuary._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“I don’t think it’s gonna stop anytime soon, should we make a break for it?” she asked. When he didn’t respond, Emma turned back to him. His eyes hadn’t left her face. “You better not freak out on me. You doing okay there, buddy?” He gave her an odd sort of smile._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“I still don’t like musicals.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“So then why didn’t you stop?”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Because I like_ you.” _He held out his hand; she took it. “And because singing and watching Mamma Mia are two very different things. Besides, there's no audience, so_ technically _not a musical. Shall we?”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Ready when you are.”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _“Okay,” he said, walking them to the steps. The rain whistled past them, spitting up at their legs as it beat down on the floor. “Count of three?” She squeezed his hand and nodded. “1… 2… 3!”_
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> _They ran out into the torrent, laughing as they went._
>> 
>> __
>> 
>> ____
>> 
>> __
> 
> ______

__  


*

“Emma? Is that _you?”_

She pushed the door open the rest of the way. She had waited until all the other students had filed out of the lecture hall before peeking through it. The professor was still stood at the podium, fussing out with his notes. He had looked up, trying to remember something, when he spotted Emma hiding in the doorway.

He gawped at her as she made her way over, scribbled scraps of paper still clutched in his frozen hands. She expected to be afraid of him. She was. His soft, academic appearance was no longer endearing to her. His austere features were less studious and more sinister. The intensity of the regret in his eyes, however, was equally influential of her emotions. She kept several feet between them, but was still a lot closer than necessary to facilitate a conversation. It was a bit like a compromise between safety and compassion.

“So… I got your note. Quite the apology.” He went to speak, but she held up her hand. “No, don’t. I don’t want another explanation, it’s okay. Look, the world is moving on, and I’d kinda like to do the same thing, so just came to say that I don’t forgive you, but at the same time you don’t really need my forgiveness. It was a one-time mistake, everyone was afraid, people do messed-up things, and I’m pretty sure it’ll never happen again. So, if it’s okay with you, I want to try coming to class, starting now.” The professor tucked the paper in his hand back inside one of the notebooks in front of him, and cleared his throat.

“Well said, Emma. And thank you for not-forgiving me. Truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do with your forgiveness if you gave it to me. It would be a great honour to have you back in my class.” The remorse eroded, as did the severity. All of a sudden, he was no longer Professor Hidgens, kooky reclusive biology professor, or even Henry, student-drugging composer without a hint of empathy. He was just an old man, with a lifetime of shame resting on his shoulders, who for the first time had been given permission to stop lamenting over one of his mistakes. Emma felt like she could leave him in a better place than she found him, and that was precisely what she had set out to do.

“Well then… I’ll see you in class.”

“See you in class,” he confirmed with a nod.

She turned to walk back to her car, knowing that Paul would be waiting to hear from her. The professor called her name before she made it to the door.

“Pass on my regard to that young man; he did more for you than I ever could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A paulkins duet! Because Paul sang in What If Tomorrow Comes, so I figured there'd be a middle man. It's another Crane Wives song because I love them, this one's called Not The Ghost, and I just thought it worked.  
> Please let me know if it's hard to follow, I just kept swapping things around and changing my mind so I have no clue. Plus this was an absolute bitch to code and I'm probably gonna stop using blockquotes because for some reason this time around the automatic html corrections just went wild and it was honestly a mess to fix (especially because I couldn't see where the mistakes were, so it was just trial and error).  
> Also I've never cooked or eaten Chicken Alfredo, it just sounded right, so I looked up a recipe and it seemed simple enough so I didn't change it.  
> I really want an excuse to make Ted sing Thank God I'm Not You by The Himalayas to Sam. I might. I might not.


	18. The little things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Ted! I was wondering if you were ever gonna get a chapter... (A teeny one because I've been really busy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's later that same monday, btw. And hi. I'm so tired. Also, coding c.17 put me off writing more for a while.

“Are you sure? Because we could go after work – if we’re not too tired, of course.”

 _Ah shit._ Ted was starting to regret suggesting it.

Ted liked living with Charlotte – or, rather, he liked Charlotte living with him. She folded things. She helped with the dishes. She made coffee for them both in the morning. Then again, he suspected these were just things she did by way of a thank you – undeniable perks, but there were the other things too, the things people do just to pass the time that you never really know about until you live with them. Things like playing classical music around the apartment. At first, it kind of bugged him, but after a while it made him feel like some kind of cultured, intelligent person. Like a historian, or one of those people who wear top hats and monocles and smoke cigars in giant armchairs. She was an amazing baker. She said she found it soothing, and promised Ted that she would clean up after herself, but he was very quick to reassure her that as long as he was allowed to sample a bit of whatever was making the kitchen smell so damn good, she could trash the place for all he cared.

Plus, it was a lot easier to have sex with someone when you shared a bed. When she first moved in, a part of him wondered whether it was wrong to sleep with someone he had taken in, in case they thought of sex as some kind of obligation, a form of payment. _Nah._ They’d been screwing around for months. Charlotte was a grown woman, not just some defenceless dependant who can’t make their own decisions.

Charlotte was good for him; he followed her lead. He folded, he did the dishes, he made coffee, he wanted her to feel at home. So, when she mentioned seeing some plant or pillow or whatever (Ted wasn’t really paying attention) that she liked, he had responded _“Well, why don’t you just get it?”_. He wasn’t very particular about decoration. The apartment had come fully furnished in what he believed to be a rather modern style, so he figured he could get away with it as is. The only additions he had made over the years were a few framed posters of old westerns – as long as they stayed put, he couldn’t care less.

But going _with_ her? _Ehhhh…_

Ted looked at Charlotte. She had a glint in her eye. It was a little thing, going to shop for something trivial that she had seen and liked, but he could tell that just the thought of it was already doing her good. Still, the rest of her face – relaxed, detached – told him that she most likely expected to be dismissed. Which was still a possibility; after all, Ted didn’t care about decoration. Ted didn’t want to go shopping after work. He wanted to go straight home, maybe watch some TV, have a beer.

Then again, it struck him that Sam probably would have wanted that too.

Sighing, Ted remembered his promise to himself. 

_Be better. ___

____

_Better than Sam, at least._

____

Maybe being better wasn’t some massive transformation. He wasn’t really cut-out for the whole saint-act, hence why he never saw the point in trying it before, but maybe he didn’t have to. What is a trip to the store, really? She wants his opinion on something, so what? How much effort would that really take? Beer and TV could be easily deferred if it meant he was actually starting to make a difference in himself. And maybe seeing Charlotte happy would have a knock-on effect. The woman deserved for someone to give her a break, someone to actually take an interest for once.

____

“Sure, sounds great.”

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how to define their relationship. Pretty much an item but not quite dating. Like FWB that live together. Or an open relationship. They definitely still flirt with other people though, but the chemistry is undeniable with these two.


	19. Okay, which fuckwit wanted the fucking pastry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hatchetfield has put the apotheosis behind them. Little do they know, something sinister is heading their way...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. It's been a while. I'm tired.  
> This was gonna be part of a much bigger chapter, but I decided to upload it in two parts because I can.  
> The first two sections are a little different, so bear with me.  
> Also, there are a couple of teeny tiny references in here, let me know if you think you've found them

Something was very wrong. Something was going to happen. She had to do something. She had to tell someone.

But what do you say? And how? When even you don’t know what’s coming.

It was nearby, she could tell that much. It felt as if she would know any minute exactly what was wrong.

She _would_ tell them.

As soon as she knew how.

_What?_

_…When?_

_…Tomorrow?_

_…Fuzzy?_

_*****_

__

**10.31.18 – 00:00:00**

__

**//-CODE: BLACK DETECTED, CODE: BLACK DETECTED-//**

__

“When did this come in?”

__

**//-CODE: BLACK DETECTED, CODE: BLACK DETECTED-//**

__

“About thirty seconds ago, sir.”

__

**//-CODE: BLACK DETECTED, CODE: BLACK DETECTED-//**

__

“Will someone shut off those sensors!?” 

__

**//-CODE: BLACK DETE-//**

__

“Thank you, Xander.”

__

“Don’t mention it. So what’s this about, lieutenant?”

__

“Just watch.”

__

**//-ACCESS CODE REQUIRED-//**

__

**//-ACCESS CODE** -YMSSMLC2418- **VALID – INITIALIZING SEQUENCE-//**

__

**_“Hey there boys and girls!”_ **

__

“Dear God…”

__

**_“Hop aboard the S.S. Wiggle, we’re setting sail for giggles – come on, sniggles!”_ **

__

“So this is how it begins?”

__

**_“He’s a wiggly snig, and a sniggly wiggly!”_ **

__

“How what begins?”

__

**_“A fwendy wend, that makes you giggly!”_ **

__

“Xander, I’ve been waiting for this for a very long time.”

__

**_“He’s an underwater creature from out of this world,”_ ******

_******** _

“For what? John, what do you know?”

_******** _

**_“The bestest fwendy-wend to all the boys and girls,”_ **

_******** _

“Jesus Christ, somebody call Schaeffer!”

_******** _

**_“He’s a wiggly wig,”_ **

_******** _

“That won’t be necessary.”

_******** _

**_“And a snuggle poo,”_ **

_******** _

“Why not? ...John, if that’s who I think it is-“

_******** _

**_“And a wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle-wiggle with you!”_ **

_******** _

“It is. It’s Cross.”

_******** _

*****

_******** _

Charlotte’s phone rang, calling her away from Paul’s desk. He had spent the past few minutes listening as she excitedly flicked through pictures on her phone of potted plants and cushions she had seen the day before, telling him all about her ideas of what would look good where. He had tried to catch Ted’s eye as he leant against the breakroom doorway to see what he made of it, but he was staring at Charlotte, an odd little smile propping up his moustache. Paul was already aware of his laissez-faire attitude to décor, so it didn’t exactly surprise him that he was letting Charlotte make changes so liberally. What did catch him off-guard was how Ted seemed to be gaining some genuine pleasure from watching her in her element. Everyone loved Charlotte. She wasn’t perfect, but she was undeniably sweet, and after months and months of a faltering stiff-upper-lip, they were all relieved to see her acting so bubbly. For Ted, though, Paul could see it was more than that. Maybe not much more, but it was definitely different.

_******** _

A lesser man would’ve given him shit for it, the way Ted always delighted in doing the same for any and everyone else, but Paul wanted coffee. It could wait. 

_******** _

“Right, I’m gonna go grab some coffee, anybody want anything? Bill?” For a good few minutes, Bill had been unusually quiet.

_******** _

He sighed. “No, sorry, I’ve got to keep refreshing this webpage.” Bill was not the most tech-savvy man; he knew what he needed to do his job (which wasn’t a lot), but anything concerning the internet flew right over his head. To combat this, Bill had a memorized list of tricks and phrases he referred to whenever he ventured beyond Microsoft excel. Other such phrases included _‘I’ll just open up the task manager’_ and _‘Must be some kind of firewall’._ Bless him.

_******** _

Paul leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the website and frowned. “Why are you looking at ToyZone?”

_******** _

“There’s this new toy coming out on Black Friday, haven’t you seen the ad?” Bill asked, looking up at Paul with just a hint of incredulity. Paul shook his head, almost regretting ever asking what Bill was doing. Without another word, he opened another tab and typed something in. A few seconds later, a video popped up on the screen. A man wearing a troubling amount of denim smoked a pipe and stared into the camera with perhaps the creepiest smile Paul had ever seen. To his horror, several children dressed in an alarming shade of green ran up to the man (who definitely didn’t look like a safe person to have near kids). They started singing _(Can this get any worse?)_ and dancing around him, each holding something fuzzy. When the camera centred on the mass of green fluff, Paul realised that yes, it could get worse; they were holding what had to be the shittiest doll he had ever seen. It looked like a character from Sesame Street had tried to eat an octopus. And failed.

_******** _

It was even worse when the doll spoke. Paul could only imagine what kind of sick individual they’d paid to put on that quite frankly demonic voice. He decided that he’d seen enough, and took to staring blankly at Bill’s stapler for the remainder of the video. It dragged on for longer than he was comfortable with. When it finished, Bill looked up at him expectantly. “Well? What do you think?”

_******** _

Paul dodged the question. “I think Alice might be a bit too old.”

_******** _

“Not for _her_ , for her _mother_ ,” he replied, with a confidence that suggested he truly believed that made perfect sense.

_******** _

“Yeah, Eleanor’s _definitely_ too old.” Paul was starting to feel concern for his evidently confused friend.

_******** _

“No,” said Bill, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up suddenly, the exasperation draining from his face, leaving only a mild shock behind. “Wait, did I forget to tell you?”

_******** _

“Tell me what?” Paul had no idea where this was going.

_******** _

“She’s getting remarried – her fiancé has a daughter, and they’ve invited me up for Christmas dinner so I can spend it with Alice.”

_******** _

Paul was starting to get where he was coming from. “And you figured if you made a good first impression, you’d get to see more of Alice in the future?”

_******** _

“ _Exactly_ – Ted told me I was being stupid, but I knew you’d get it.” He beamed as he turned back to the monitor, clicking the refresh button again. “So, do you think she’ll like it?”

_******** _

_No_ would’ve been the next word out of Paul’s mouth had he not noticed a small disclaimer at the bottom of the page. “Uh, I think you may want to check elsewhere, buddy,” he said, pointing at the words “NO PRE-ORDERS”. Bill’s shoulders drooped slightly. He patted them. “Well hey, why don’t you check Amazon? Or EBAY, it doesn’t have to be a toy store.”

_******** _

He considered this for a moment. “Good idea, Paul. I’ll have a look later, I should probably get back to work.”

_******** _

“Sure thing, Bill. Can I get you anything from Beanies?”

_******** _

“No thanks, I’m good.” Paul turned to leave. “Oh, say hi to your girlfriend for me, I can’t wait to see her costume.”

_******** _

“She’snotmygirlfriend,” Paul blurted out. The last thing he wanted was for someone to get the wrong idea and freak her out later by making it sound like he’d been telling everyone they were together. “We’re just…” _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckfuck_ “…friends.” 

_******** _

Bill stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second, but whatever you say…”

_******** _

*****

_******** _

“And then what happened?”

_******** _

“We drove back to his place, and-”

_******** _

“OooOOOooohhh…!”

_******** _

“Oh my God, grow up.”

_******** _

Nora was starting to get sick of all the chit-chat. Yes, it made a nice change that Emma wasn’t stumbling around the place like a fucking zombie anymore, and she was glad that Zoey was okay and back at work (she really didn’t need another lawsuit), but the weird sort of friendship that was forming between the two workers was just that – weird.

_******** _

The pair had nothing in common, which meant that Nora was stuck all day listening to whatever dull shit was going on in their day-to-day lives, something she couldn’t care less about if they were speaking another language. She didn’t want to know about the boring man who blew up the meteor, or the lawyer Zoey hooked up with, or whatever the hell they found to fill the silence. Nora had a business to run, and her game was looking forward, not back (or even sideways, for that matter).

_******** _

Zoey was her favourite; she reminded her of herself… take twenty years. Nora had no problem with letting _her_ slack a little. After all, her habit of flirting with every legal adult male that entered Beanies was responsible for about seventy percent of their repeat business, and Nora wasn’t proud of it, but the short-shorts for the uniform were a strategic choice, so having attractive people on the payroll never hurt. That’s the only reason she hired Emma, after all – God knows if she had talked to her long enough to figure out even a trace of her personality, she would’ve been out the door quicker than she could say “cappuccino”. Emma was rude, had no respect for authority, and nothing irritated Nora more than someone who only worked for money.

_******** _

Still, she had ways of getting her own back.

_******** _

*****

_******** _

_“What am I gonna do with you?”_

_******** _

The small girl’s head snapped up in his direction, pigtails whipping to the side. “Ethan?”

_******** _

Ethan’s warming smile was second nature. At first he had been irritated, getting that call from Lex. She had a hard enough time at work and in general without having to shoulder the responsibility of a child like Hannah. Of course, they didn’t blame her – how could they? None of them asked for the hand they were dealt, but that didn’t stop the traces of bitterness that broke into their happy trio each and every time they were reminded how far from contentment they really were. From the vague grumblings he’d heard as he walked Lex to her morning shift once they’d dropped Hannah off at school, it had been another rough night in the Foster abode. He wasn’t sure of the specifics, but from what he could tell, Hannah had been repeating something that had pissed off their mom and Lex had stepped in, taking the full brunt of the tirade. By the time he met them both outside the trailer that morning, she looked exhausted. So, when she had received a call from the school letting her know that her mom wasn’t picking up the phone and that they needed someone to pick up Hannah after having a meltdown, _and_ Frank wouldn’t let her leave to fetch her, Lex, naturally, was upset. He had done his best to calm her down over the phone, ensuring he would handle it, and that she should just focus on the rest of her shift, but he could still feel the pain that seeped from her every word, and Lex’s pain was Ethan’s pain, too.

_******** _

The moment he laid eyes on that kid, slouched in a giant stained chair that dwarfed the already slight girl, he knew he wasn’t irritated with _her_. It was just circumstance. Shitty, _shitty_ circumstance.

_******** _

“Hey, banana,” he said, fondly rubbing the top of her head. He tried not to let his concern at the hollowness of her eyes or the paleness of her face change his expression. She looked like she could use a little optimism. “You ready to go? I thought we could take a cruise down to Ridgemont Point, take in the view, maybe grab a tube steak on the way over, what’d’ya say?”

_******** _

Her eyes went out of focus as she stared off to the side. After a moment she offered a weak nod, but made no effort to stand. He knelt down beside her and rested an elbow on the arm of the chair. “You wanna talk about it, squirt?”

_******** _

Her eyes darted to the receptionist, whose face was rather pointedly aimed at the computer screen in front of her, before shaking her head. Ethan made a note to ask her about it again later, when they were alone. “Alrighty then. Let’s make a move, shall we?” He slung Hannah’s backpack over his shoulder as he stood up, then slowly held out a hand for her. She took it reluctantly, but her grip was firm. He gave a reassuring squeeze as they made their way to the exit.

_******** _

*****

_******** _

“One black coffee, please.”

_******** _

Funny. Paul could’ve sworn Emma said she was working this shift.

_******** _

Zoey’s eyes widened as she looked up from her phone and met Paul’s gaze. “Uh… sure.” She placed her phone down on the counter and silently (awkwardly, even) got to work. Paul tapped his knuckles together; he was rather out of habit when it came to waiting for coffee when there was no Emma to talk to.

_******** _

Zoey threw a glance in his direction. “Nora sent her out to pick up sugar sachets.”

_******** _

He would’ve played innocent and asked _who_ Nora had sent out, but he could see there was no point. “Oh.” _Oh. Okay_. He couldn’t help but notice the large, unopened box labelled ‘SUGAR 12KG’ tucked next to one of the machines, or the overflowing dish beside him, and started to feel a little paranoid about Nora’s impeccable timing. Surely he wasn’t _that_ predictable…

_******** _

“She’ll be back in a few minutes,” Zoey added, seemingly to herself. He let her finish with his order without another word, placing a generous tip in the jar in the hope that Emma would receive the message.

_******** _

Just as he was about to take the to-go cup Zoey was sliding towards him, she paused, raising her eyebrows slightly. “Y’know, I’m pretty sure there’s a fresh batch of croissants in the oven. Yeah, we started making them fresh like a couple days ago, those pre-packaged ones weren’t selling.”

_******** _

“Oh, uh, that’s cool…” Paul replied, inching his hand towards his coffee. She huffed and slid it back towards herself, much to his confusion.

_******** _

“Sooo, _if_ you wanted one, you’d have to _wait_ about ten minutes,” she said, her voice going up and down, placing emphasis in weird places. Her eye twitched. It took him a second to realise she was winking.

_******** _

_Oooohhhh_. “Oh, well yeah, they sound great,” he amended. He could feel a faint blush warming his cheeks. Whether it was the thought of this stranger trying to help him see Emma, the fact that he was accepting it or because it took him so long to figure it out, he couldn’t tell.

_******** _

She gave him a knowing smirk that made him only a little uncomfortable. “Well, why don’t you take a seat? I’ll let you know when they’re ready.” At long last, she released the cup. It was then that he recalled Emma’s story about the clothes. _Huh_. Maybe he’d misjudged Zoey. He thanked her and walked over to the window, sliding into an empty booth that offered him a view of the high street, in the hopes that he’d see Emma’s return. When he looked back at the counter, Zoey was back on her phone, but he managed to catch her in the process of sneaking a very obvious look at him. _Okay, so she’s still a little annoying_. He let it slide; she was doing him a favour, after all.

_******** _

*****

_******** _

_Stupid fucking Nora. Stupid sugar. Stupid stupid stupid._

_******** _

Emma kicked the door closed behind her and slammed the boxes down on table in the breakroom beside Zoey’s lounging feet. Shrugging off her coat and dumping it on the nearest chair, she marched towards the hallway. Zoey called for her to wait, but she help up her hand.

_******** _

“Hold on,” she muttered, without breaking her stride. When she made it to Nora’s office, she poked her head in and recited the sentence she’d had to repeat over and over on her way back to avoid swearing. Her boss paused her typing and looked up at her with a mostly blank face, sporting only a hint of haughtiness. “I got the sugar, and since I worked through my break making _pastries_ , I’m gonna take it now.” She pulled the door closed behind her without waiting for a response.

_******** _

She clocked out and slumped back inside the breakroom, throwing herself down on top of her coat. Her arms practically throbbed from having to carry a giant box of sugar halfway across downtown, and she was starting to get a headache.

_******** _

Zoey spoke without looking up from her phone. “I think the croissants are done, but I didn’t want to just get them out. Also, there’s a customer at table three who’s waiting for one.”

_******** _

Emma glared at her.

_******** _

_Fine. Fucking. Fine._

_******** _

She didn’t even bother clocking back in. She was too pissed off to be petty about it. She made her way to the kitchen and yanked the tray out of the oven, barely recollecting the necessity of oven mitts in time. By some miracle, her hands remained un-burned and the croissants were perfect. _You damn-fucking-right they are_. If one more thing were to go wrong, Emma wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop herself from quitting. She snatched a plate and dropped a pastry onto it, hurting her fingertips a little in the process. Part of her wanted the customer to burn themselves eating a too-hot croissant, then they might complain and she’d never have to make them ever again.

_******** _

When she made it to the staff-door, she hesitated, taking the chance to peer through the little window and look for whichever fuckwit wanted the fucking pastry. Her heart leapt up into her throat when she saw the tall, sloping figure nestled into the booth, slender fingers twirling the wooden stick with the number three carved into the top as he gazed idly out of the window. She backed up until she was in line with the breakroom, and leant against the doorway. Zoey looked up and smirked.

_******** _

“Why?” Emma asked, a little worn from all the irritation but beginning to feel the lift of relief.

_******** _

Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Honestly?” Emma nodded. “I ship it.”

_******** _

Emma groaned and walked off. “Seriously, grow _up_ ,” she called behind her as she went. Zoey’s obsession with her love-life was starting to get a little creepy, but at least it worked in her favour. Rather than heading straight for Paul, she returned to the kitchen and picked up another croissant for herself, pinching a couple of packets of butter on her way out that she was sure Nora wouldn’t miss.

_******** _

Again, she took a moment to pause at the window. Paul was leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers on the lid of his coffee. His head was turned fully away from her, still looking out at the street and watching the people as they passed him by. It was a comfort to see him like this; completely natural, unaware. Emma had always felt that people were only really honest when they were alone, so to see him so relaxed, and observing the world with the grace of leisure felt surprisingly intimate.

_******** _

It didn’t last long; Emma really needed a smile.

_******** _

She pushed the door open with her elbow , then let it swing shut behind her. She half expected him to turn and face her upon hearing it, but he remained still, as if he were daydreaming. It took a lot of effort to supress the happiness that bubbled up inside her the closer she got. The effect that he was beginning to have on her was perplexing, to the point that shying away from it was also a very real danger. There had to be a balance somewhere, an equilibrium between excitement and fear. Emma was determined to find it.

_******** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so it's moving more into setting up black friday rather than tying off tgwdlm.  
> Also I haven't had the chance to write much since returning to sixth form, but now I'm stuck inside because my dad had covid and now we think I do too so yayyyy (but I don't qualify for a test yet, apparently), so yeah.  
> I thought I'd do a bit from Nora's perspective because I haven't yet, and because I wanted to solidify her as a shitty employer.  
> Also Zoey is a theatre kid, she knows an otp when she sees one.  
> And get ready for some lexthan content coming at ya :)


	20. What A Pussy, Couldn't Even Commit Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul and Emma eat croissants and prepare for CCRP's Halloween party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that these uploads are so slow, I decided to upload what I had of the chapter (this is like a week old now) rather than waiting to finish it. I'll write more after ep.3 of Nightmare Time (BTW, I won't include anything from NT in this fic, if it wasn't in either of the musicals, it wont be in this. Well, maybe minor details, but this fic will remain spoiler free) purely so I know a little more about how to write a certain character.  
> So yeah, this is fic is only in a timeline with both TGWDLM and BF, none of the other Hatchetfield 'occurrences'.

Paul gazed down the street and sighed. There was no sign of her, but he wasn’t in a rush. Mr. Davidson was in a much more merciful mood these days, and had quite cheerfully informed the office that all of their deadlines were being pushed back another day, something about the ‘spirit of festivities’. Of course, this was only applicable if you promised him you were attending the party, _and_ that you would be doing so in costume. Paul’s was stashed away in a bag under the stairs, exactly where he left it after buying it a month earlier (after making a couple of adjustments, that is). His colleagues had been teasing him for turning up as ‘a weather man’ for five years in a row (which was really just his regular work outfit, plus every now and then he’d gesture to some invisible clouds on a fictitious greenscreen and make up something about condensation at high altitudes), so he had made a point of driving to lakeside mall straight after work and getting one. Of course, this hadn’t _stopped_ the teasing, merely _changed_ it. The purchase of a legitimate costume had started an office wide bet over what he would turn up as. This had culminated in an actual contest – Mr. Davidson had created a tally chart on a whiteboard and asked Melissa to ask everyone to place their guesses. It had taken Ted sneaking “big sausage pizza” onto the board for someone to anonymously complain that the whole thing was ‘inappropriate for the work environment’, meaning it had to be scrapped. _Thank God_. As much as Paul was just _dying_ to flash is co-workers for a throwaway joke, the crudely photoshopped images Ted had taken to flooding his emails with had to stop.

No, his costume was infinitely more tasteful. No public indecency. Always a good thing. Well, not in Ted’s books, apparently.

Oddly enough, for the first time since he started working at CCRP, he was genuinely looking forward to the party. It didn’t take him a lot of thinking to figure out why. The thing he had with Emma was definitely going somewhere (other than the bedroom). Paul had no other way to account for it other than it just felt _right_. He recognised that it was harder for her than it was for him, but that just made it all the more special that she still seemed like she wanted to be with him in some capacity. And, if he was very lucky, maybe somewhere down the line it could become serious. He hoped so. For now, though, Paul was contented with the possibility of a lame Halloween get together in his mundane office if it meant he could laugh with her over everyone’s ridiculous outfits.

He brought his attention away from his pondering and focused on the street again. Part of him wondered whether or not she’d already passed him without him see-

A plate dropped quite suddenly in front of him; he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“They're kinda hot, so you might want to give them a minute. Oh, and I made these, so there’s a very real chance that they’ll taste like shit,” Emma said, ripping off her apron and shoving it down on the seat across from him.

He tried his best to collect himself. “You didn’t spit in them, did you?” It was pleasing to watch the faint smirk his comment produced as it soothed her worn features.

“No, but when I got back from my _little outing_ and Zoey told me a customer was waiting for one, I _nearly_ spat on _her_. And _then_ the pastry. But then I saw it was you and I figured, eh, I’ll let you off.”

“Wow, I’m honoured,” he replied dryly. Looking down at his plate, the croissant both looked and _smelled_ delicious. It was a little surprising; Emma was the last person he would peg for a baker.

“You should be. I swear, Nora has had it out for me even more than usual this week. You know I’ve made about a _hundred_ of these fuckers?” She ripped off a small chunk and dabbed it into the butter that sat on the edge of the plate. The smell was getting to him, making him hungry, so he copied her, even though she had been right about the temperature. Admittedly, his knowledge of what the perfect croissant should taste like was far from that of an expert, but if he were to guess, Emma’s were pretty spot on. It made it a little difficult to listen. “And God forbid anyone help me – Zoey doesn’t want to get her nails dirty, Nora thinks of us all as flying monkeys, and with how little gets done, at this point I’m not even sure if anyone else works here.”

“So how come you were sent out for sugar?”

She frowned. “Zoey told you?”

“Yeah.”

“Figures. Yeah, I’m pretty sure Nora sent me out for trying to have a conversation, which is pretty fucking stupid given how much she complained about me being quiet.” Paul didn’t mention his suspicion that Nora had timed it like that to keep them apart. The more he considered it, the more ridiculous he felt (despite still believing it). He very nearly didn’t register the last part of her sentence.

“You? Quiet? _Never_ ,” he teased, trying to hide his proud smirk by taking a sip of his coffee. She smiled with him but dropped the eye contact that they’d maintained throughout the majority of the conversation. _Ah shit, I said something. Move on, Paul, move on quickly._ He tried to think of the best way to compliment her baking that didn’t feel like an abrupt change of subject.

Emma sighed. “I was just out of it, I guess. Y’know, I thought she’d get it. I mean, she _saw_ what happened, right? I thought – I _hoped_ – she might cut me a little slack, but now it’s starting to feel like she hates me more _because_ of it, which makes absolutely no sense since I’ve actually been trying for once. Like, I bet I could literally save her life and she’d still find a way to put me down for it. God, I’m just so tired of putting in so much work around here and getting nothing back. And I know I’m doing this for a reason, and once I get my degree I’ll thank myself for it, but that just feels so far off, y’know?”

“Well… if it’s any consolation, these are amazing,” said Paul, lifting up his half-eaten croissant. He knew she wouldn’t forgive him if he let her get upset at work. Luckily, she took his remark well, eyes crinkling with the most genuine smile he’d seen since she sat down.

“ _Thank_ you – at least _someone_ appreciates my efforts.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Oh definitely. You know, if you wanted to quit you could probably start up your own bakery, give this place a run for its money,” he joked, emphasising his point with another bite. She chuckled, so he kept going. “How do you like the name Perkins’ Pastries?”

She considered it for a moment. “How about Beanies Can Bite My Buns?”

Paul tried his very best not to choke on pastry flakes. “That’s definitely a winner,” he laughed.

There was a brief lull in their conversation as they finished their food. It was a nice change to experience a comfortable silence, in which neither one of them felt like anything needed to be said. It was the first time Paul fully realised that he was no longer just pining after her from what felt like an impossible distance, that there was a chance that she felt all of the things he did, even if they were tucked away behind her reserve.

He wouldn’t say it. He wouldn’t even think it, not yet. But sharing that entirely ordinary moment with her, for the first time in a long while, Paul he knew exactly what he wanted.

To be near the tired barista with crumbs smeared all over her mouth as much as possible.

Paul realised he was staring, and quickly redirected his gaze out the window. Emma leant back in her chair. “So,” she started, pulling her apron out from underneath herself and holding it on her lap. “What time will Inspector Gadget be arriving at my door later?”

_Uhhh…_ “Who?”

She stared back at him blankly. “No? Okay, how about Clark Kent?” _Oh, the costume!_

“First of all, if you’re expecting Clark Kent, I hope you enjoy disappointment. Second, _I_ will hopefully make it to yours at around quarter to six, is that okay?”

Her eyes widened. “Paul, _please_ tell me you have a costume.”

“Oh I do, I do,” he appeased, “I just kinda want to see if you’ll get the reference.” He picked up his coffee, sensing the end of their meeting was drawing near.

“Well then in that case, quarter to six it is. For now, I should probably get back on the clock before Nora finds me out here and devours my soul,” she said as she stood up. She grimaced at her apron before pulling it over her head and tying it in place.

“Yeah… capitalism’s a bitch.”

She laughed. “Wise words. Thankfully, it’s Wednesday, so I only have another hour to go in this hell-hole. I can only imagine what this would feel like nine-to-fucking-five.” He walked her over to the counter as she talked, not quite ready to say goodbye. Emma held up her arm for a moment, almost as if she hadn’t yet decided what she was going to do with it. He waited for her to decide, drinking the last of his coffee and looking away from her lest he weird her out. In the end, she placed her hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze as she walked past him, sending the slightest of shivers down to his fingertips. She turned back to look at him and jerked her chin towards his coffee. “You finished?” she asked, holding out her hand.

“Uh yeah, thanks,” he answered, handing her the empty cup. “Oh, uh, how much for the food? Which, if I haven’t mentioned, was delicious.”

_Those eyes_. “You did, but it’s still nice to hear. And they were on the house – see, I’ve decided that the recipe is still in the ‘experiment phase’, so they were technically taste tests.”

“Ahh, got it. Well, if you ever need another guinea pig, I’m your man.” He shot her an uncertain finger-gun.

Emma pulled open the staff door. _That smile._ “That can be arranged. I’ll see you later, Paul.”

It was hard finding the right words in time. “Yeah well, not if I don’t first- if I see- fuck it, bye Emma.”

He could hear her laughing even once the door had swung shut. _Worth it._

*****

“Who the fuck are you?” Emma most certainly did _not_ get the reference.

His face was slightly indignant. “Well, I could ask you the same question,” he retorted, gesturing at her costume. She scoffed, giving him a little twirl.

“What’s the matter Matthews, never seen a cavewoman before?”

“I _have_ , I just thought Halloween costumes are supposed to be scary.” She ran her eyes over his slouchy denim getup and the hair he’d styled into a Leonardo DiCaprio-type set of curtains.

“OH, because you look _so_ terrifying… for the record, this is a _very_ scary costume, but I don’t expect someone dressed like guy from the fucking wiggly doll thing to understand that.”

He scrunched his nose up in disgust. “Ugh, I hate that ad.” Emma wasn’t surprised. “Okay, that guy is terrifying and no one can convince me otherwise, but I’m definitely not dressed as _him_.”

“Well then _who_ are you? The outfit says janitor from Scrubs, but the hair says Joey Tribiani.”

Paul crossed his arms and tilted up his chin. “I’ll only tell you if you can give me one good reason why a cavewoman could be considered scary.”

Emma had pre-prepared a response. “There are lots of good reasons! I mean, they just went around setting fire to stuff and stabbing each other with spears and picking fights with mammoths the moment they figured out how. Plus, all those _morals_ we learn from society and shit, they didn’t have those yet. Y’know, they probably had to _figure out_ that eating babies is a bad thing. So yeah, if you can’t see what’s scary about an entire race of ruthless baby-eating pyromaniacs, then I really don’t know how to help you.” At long last, a smile broke through Paul’s jokingly stern façade. He shook his head.

“Andy Dufresne.”

_Huh?_ “Andy doo-what now?”

“From The Shawshank Redemption?” Emma blinked. “It’s this film about a guy who gets convicted of a double-homicide that he didn’t commit and winds up in a corrupt prison for years, and like, what he gets up to over his sentence. I sewed on the prison number myself,” he said, gesturing to a felt rectangle that had been stitched onto his shirt and written on with a marker pen, She vaguely recalled him talking about his love of film when she met him at that bar. She had watched him talk with an amused sort of calmness, noticing the way his eyes lit up when he remembered something he found interesting and how he used his hands to emphasise what he was saying, how he would trail off as he realised he’d been dominating the conversation, but his confidence would come back to him if she asked him a question. In fact, she was pretty sure he’d brought up that film during that conversation, amongst a list of other ‘modern classics’. It made sense that he would dress up as a character from something like that.

Having said that, this was a _Halloween_ costume, and since he had picked fault with hers... “Pfft, not scary, the guy didn’t even murder anyone.”

“He _wanted_ to,” Paul defended.

“What a pussy.”

He chuckled. “You haven’t even seen it.”

“And what are you gonna do about that?” Now they were back in each other’s lives, Emma realised that she knew a lot about him whilst still knowing nothing at all. What use is family history and black coffee when you can’t quote the guy’s favourite film? She only hoped he would take the hint.

He did. “My place, Saturday?”

As if her mind wasn’t already made up. “You’re on.” She stepped around him, pulled the door shut behind her and locked it. “Shall we? I wanna see how quickly I can reach the two drink limit.”

*****

Paul pressed the button for the second floor. He wouldn’t say he was nervous, but he was becoming increasingly unsure of his decision to invite Emma. On paper, it was an excellent idea; anything that entailed spending time with Emma he imagined would be fun, even if it was something simple like grocery shopping, or grave digging (which she had made two jokes about it being a hobby of hers on the drive over – not exactly a huge amount, but impressive considering the drive only took fifteen minutes, and especially since they still made sense in the context of the conversation). However, the closer he got to the party itself, the more he remembered _oh shit, colleagues._

He knew they’d all met before… kinda… but none of them actually _knew_ each other.

Unfortunately, they all knew Paul.

If his fears were anything to go by, there was a possibility he would be in for an evening of embarrassing anecdotes, ghosts of nickname’s past and, well, Ted. Then there was the matter of the _thing_ , the recollection of which had a chance of rearing its disgusting, blue, alien head amongst the idle gossip of the party, apt to sour the mood at any moment. There was a chance that this would be the perfect opportunity to mend the past with new memories, but if not...

On top of this, he was at work. If he wasn’t careful about each and every sentence, touch or even look that he shared with Emma, it would come back to bite him at some point, he was sure of it. He was going to have to monitor himself the whole evening, which sounded exhausting.

And _Ted_.

Emma chuckled at something; Paul flashed her a nervous glance. She poked one of the cartoon-ghost stickers that Melissa had stuck on the wall.

_Melissa._

If there was one person in that office Emma was likely to make a genuine connection with, it was Melissa. When she first started there, Paul had found her timid, and she had this colourful optimism that had always been a bit too bubbly for him, but she was one of the few co-workers he had that wasn’t an asshole, a wreck, or whatever the hell Mr. Davidson was. As for Bill, he thought – he hoped – they would get along, but he didn’t see the two becoming best friends if he was honest with himself. Although, Emma was a great baker, so perhaps that would help them. As for Melissa, he didn’t know her that much, but she seemed relatively sane. Maybe they would find something to talk about.

Barely giving him time to compose himself, the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope that was okay. I feel bad for neglecting this fic and starting another one (NT kinds gave me sudden inspiration for something) but I've hit a bit of a bump where I forget where I was going. I'll keep trying though, I really want to see this through.


	22. Ted's a cockblock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party time, bitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah. I know. it's been a while.

The office looked drastically different to the way it had when Paul had left it just a short while ago. For one, there were a lot more orange and black streamers than usual, with desks covered in wool-cobwebs and fake candle lights, and everyone had swapped out their typically mundane office-appropriate outfits for slightly more whimsical attire. Admittedly, Paul didn’t know most of the people at CCRP; he only really got to know the ones his job required him to talk to, but other than that, everyone else was either too preoccupied during work or too exhausted after to make socialising possible. The addition of costumes made it harder than usual to spot any familiar faces through the crowd of zombies and vampires.

Stepping out of the elevator, Paul scanned the crowd. It was a little easier for him given his height, but he gave a cursory glance down at Emma to see if she’d recognised anyone. At that moment, something long and fuzzy nearly hit her in the face, and he reached out and swatted it away before it could. She stumbled away from whatever it was, brushing against him slightly and making him temporarily forget what he was doing.

A loud cry of “Paul!” brought him back to the present, as the black, fuzzy thing whipped in the other direction, until they were confronted the beaming face of Mr. Davidson, who was sporting a rather large spider costume, the legs of which bounced around as he moved. “Good to see you!” he called over the music, stepping towards Paul to shake his hand, and yet again almost hitting Emma with his fake legs. “And so nice to see you actually wearing a real costume this year! Don’t tell me… some kind of prisoner?”

“Uh, yeah, pretty much,” Paul replied, withdrawing his hand from his boss’s, who had apparently forgotten he was still shaking it.

Mr. Davidson let out a victorious laugh. “Excellent! And I see you’ve brought a friend,” he gestured to Emma, shaking her hand as well. “Love the get-up – cave-woman, right?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Welcome to CCRP, I hope you enjoy your evening! Right, now if you two don’t mind, I’m going to go find my wife, she’s around here somewhere- oh, help yourself to drinks, and have fun!” With that, he was off, scuttling into the crowd and accidently whacking people with his costume as he went.

“He seems…” Emma began before trailing off. She had an odd smile on her face.

“Excitable?” Paul suggested. Whilst his boss did have a certain level of mild yet near-constant joy during office hours (what can only be described as ‘corporate enthusiasm’), he seemed even more jumpy than usual. Maybe he just really liked his costume.

Emma gave a slow nod. “I was going to say ‘friendly’, but that definitely works too.”

Paul smiled. He was about to ask if he could get her a drink, when…

“What up, fuckers?” a voice asked, as someone pushed themselves between Paul and Emma and a pair of arms wrapped around both of their necks.

Paul sighed, doing everything he could to supress a groan. “Hey, Ted.”

“So, what have we got here?” Ted asked, looking each of them up and down. “… Uh, sad plumber and… sexy cave-woman?”

 _“Regular_ cave-woman,” Emma corrected, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, baby,” he crooned with a wink. Paul was going to say something, but Ted took his arms off both of them, stepping away and showing a sense of moderation and boundary that Paul had never seen in him before. “And what about you, huh?” he asked Paul, gesturing to his outfit. “I’m guessing there’s some logic behind your costume.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m Andy Dufresne.”

“Pfft, figures you’d dress up like some stuck-up schmuck from one of your lame-ass films,” Ted scoffed, shaking his head.

“Well, it can’t be that lame if you’ve seen enough of it to remember the main character’s name,” Paul countered, feeling a little proud of himself.

Ted gave him an amused smile, which filled him with an inexplicable sense of dread. “Actually, I think I remember the name from one of your articles.” _Oh no_. “What was that one called again, buddy?” _Please don’t_. “ _‘The Shawshank Redemption: a novella turned cinematic masterpiece’?_ Not a very catchy title, I gotta say.” If he hadn’t been freaking out over the fact that Ted was talking about his blog in front of Emma (who knew nothing about it), Paul would’ve been impressed that he’d managed to remember the whole title. Then again, Ted had probably gone away and revisited his reviews in preparation of embarrassing him.

“Wait a sec, what’s this?” Emma asked, looking up at Paul in confusion. He cringed, wishing that the drab carpet tiles would swallow him whole.

Ted let out an indescribable noise, yet one that perfectly communicated his incredulity. “Hold up, you mean that Paul hasn’t told you about his blog yet?”

“So is Charlotte here? I haven’t seen her,” Paul interrupted, looking away from both of them and scanning the crowd again.

“Yeah, she’s talking to Bill over by the drinks table. Oh my God, did Mr. Davidson tell you? No dumbass two drink limit, about-fucking- _time_ … hey, do either of you two want something, I was about to go get a refill.” He held up his empty cup to emphasise his point.

“Uh…” Paul looked to Emma, inquisitively raising his eyebrows. She considered it for a moment, then gave a confident nod.

Ted rubbed his hands together with a clap. “Perfect, time to get you _wasted _, Matthews, you _and_ your woman.” Paul cringed slightly, but only until he realised he was grateful that Ted didn’t call her anything worse. However, he wasn’t intending to drink.__

____

“Uh, actually, I drove here, so-“

____

“So what? You can walk! C’mon, man, it’s been too fuckin’ long since drunk-Paul has made an appearance, and he’s so _much better_ than regular-Paul! Loosen up, have fun, don’t be such a buzzkill!” As Ted stared at him expectantly, Paul looked to Emma, hoping to gauge her opinion.

____

“It’s not that far a walk,” she said with a shrug and a discrete wink. He was about to contradict her, and say that it had to be a forty-five minute walk from his office to her apartment, when he realised what she was trying to tell him.

____

She wasn’t thinking of her own place; she was thinking of _his._

____

Paul turned back to Ted before he could blush. “Fine, I’ll drink.” Ted pumped his fist. “But _only_ if you tell me who _you’re_ supposed to be.” Paul said, gesturing to Ted’s outfit. He wore a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone, impossibly tight jeans, his hair was gelled into spikes and spray-dyed white, and his face had been covered with fake-tan.

____

Ted stuck out his chin. “I’m you, but sexier.” Paul rolled his eyes. “No, I’m serious! I’m Paul Hollywood!” Paul stared at him; Ted sighed. “He’s a judge from this British baking show Charlotte likes, she’s had it on in the apartment a lot,” he explained, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Anyways, enough procrastinating, it’s time to put _drinks_ in _hands_ , let’s _go_.” Ted pointed to the far wall and marched off, leaving Paul and Emma to hesitantly follow after him.

____

When they got to the table, they found Charlotte and Bill smiling at each other politely over their plastic cups, and having what appeared to be a completely normal conversation, despite the former being dressed as a cat, and the latter, a cowboy. They stopped talking the moment they noticed who had arrived, and their polite smiles turned into welcoming beams.

____

“Paul, good to see you!” Bill proudly announced, pulling Paul in for a hug. It felt like an odd remark considering they had seen each other a little while before, but his friend carried on talking before he could remind him of as much. “And what do you know, you actually wore a genuine costume this year! Y’know what Paul, I’m impressed.” His tone was only slightly sarcastic.

____

Paul gave him a playful shove. “Yeah, yeah… y’know you’re only the third person to bring that up since we got here?”

____

“But still,” Charlotte chimed in, “It’s nice to see you’re taking part in all the festivities for a change.” She leaned in towards Emma and lowered her voice slightly, not excluding the rest of the group, but enough to emphasise who she was addressing. “Honestly, sweetheart, I don’t know _how_ you managed it, this one’s just about the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

____

“Oh, I had nothing to do with-“ Emma objected.

____

Ted interrupted her, chuckling. “Woah, man, you’re totally _whipped!”_

____

“So I was just just telling Charlotte how amazing the decorations looked,” Bill prompted, stepping ever so slightly in front of Ted. “What do you think? Better than last year?”

____

“Oh, definitely,” Paul agreed with a definitive nod. He looked to Emma, and explained his verdict. “Last year, Mr. Davidson told Charlotte and Melissa that he wanted it to look like a crime scene, right? So of course, they put up a whole bunch of police tape, left evidence markers on people’s desks, bagged up some of the office supplies, everything looked really good. Until…” He looked at Charlotte, nodding at her to continue the story.

____

She finished a sip of her drink and sighed. “About an hour before the party started, Mr. Davidson came back from his car with these buckets. Well, he put them down in front of us and said he wanted to smear what was inside all over the walls and floor, right over there.” She gestured to the door of Mr. Davidson’s office. “And what do you think it was? Corn syrup! Oh, let me tell you, it was icky, it completely stained our hands _and_ everything else it touched, and people couldn’t walk anywhere near the stuff because it got on everyone’s clothes!”

____

“The janitor wasn’t happy either,” Bill added. “It dried in overnight, so they had to replace quite a few of the carpet tiles, and the walls had to be repainted.”

____

“Which meant our office went from smelling like shitty fake blood for one week, to shitty corporate off-white emulsion the next,” Ted finished, downing the last of his new drink and going straight back to the table to pour himself another.

____

Throughout the story, Paul had found himself incapable of taking his eyes off of Emma. He hadn’t meant to stare, but her reactions were mesmerizing; the way her expressions shifted from amusement to incredulity to amusement again, how the corners of her eyes were lifted up with each smile. Everything about her was fascinating.

____

He looked away the moment he realised what he was doing.

____

“Right, uh…” Paul gestured to the table. “What can I get you?”

____

“Oh, try the punch,” Bill suggested. “There may be a little something-something in there, on account of Mr. Davidson’s new policy,” he said, raising his own, almost empty cup. It was then that Paul noticed his friend was leaning slightly to the left, odd for a man with near impeccable posture. He was halfway to tipsy already.

____

“Punch it is,” Emma decided. “I’ll get it – you having the same?” she asked Paul.

__“Oh, uh, sure, thanks.”_ _

She stepped around Paul and Bill and grabbed a couple of cups from the stack. Ted and Charlotte had started having their own conversation, leaning against each other in an only-just-decent manner. When he looked back to Bill, he was staring off to the side, his attention caught by something – or someone – in the crowd. Paul tried to follow his gaze, but he couldn’t tell who he was looking at.

____

“You okay there, Bill?” he asked, still trying to figure out what had distracted him.

____

Bill recollected himself with a shake of the head. “Oh, yeah, I’m good. Sorry, I was just…”

____

Paul waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn’t; he just kept staring at the crowd. By that point, Emma had returned with the drinks.

____

“So Bill,” she said, handing Paul a cup of something an alarming shade of red. “What’s this I hear about Paul’s _blog?_ He’s never mentioned it.”

____

Paul gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Oh, it’s nothing really, it’s barely even-“

____

“You haven’t told her about the blog?? _Paul._ ” Bill put his hand on his hip and gaped at him. “But film is like your _thing.”_

____

“Oh, I knew _that,”_ Emma interjected.

____

Bill seemed a little relieved. “Well that’s a little better, I guess… but c’mon, Paul. How could you miss out the _blog?”_

____

“Yeah, Paul,” Emma agreed, looking up at him with crossed arms and a mischievous grin. “I mean, were you ever gonna bring it up?”

____

Paul wished he could come up with a new topic of discussion. He could not.

____

Bill frowned, and pulled his phone from his back pocket. “Hang on a sec.” He stared at it for a second. “Oh, it’s from Alice… pictures of the party she’s at… looks like she’s having fun! I’m gonna send her some,” he decided, face plastered with an enthusiastic smile. “Would you guys mind?” Without waiting for a response, Bill held his phone up in the air and scooted closer to Paul, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Emma moved closer to him and took his wrist, guiding his arm until she was nestled close by his side.

____

Part of him wondered whether he would ever get used to being close to her. Part of him didn’t want to.

____

They smiled, and Bill took the picture, before scuttling off, presumably in search of Ted and Charlotte, who Paul was surprised to realise had left at some point. The realisation distracted him enough that he forgot his arm was still around Emma. He stepped away from her awkwardly.

____

“What’s it called?” She asked. They stepped away from the table as more people gathered around it, and instead stood at the side of the room, slightly apart from the main bulk of dancing workers so that they could still hear each other. They looked like wallflowers, which was nothing new to Paul, but for once it was nice to have someone there with him.

____

It took him a moment to realise what she was referring to. “The blog?” She nodded. Paul winced. “Matthews Reviews.”

____

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Wow, that’s…” Paul gritted his teeth, waiting for her to finish her sentence. He didn’t know what to expect from Emma, but if her response was anything like the ones he had received over the years whenever people found out about his hobby, it would be something along the lines of _‘stupid’_ or _‘boring’._

____

Emma’s eyes met his, and her face shifted. “It sounds good,” she finished.

____

A brief silence passed between them. He read nothing but honesty in her eyes, and the message she was trying to send him. _You don’t have to be embarrassed._ He had been worrying about this party since she first said she would accompany him. That was the first moment he knew for definite that there was nothing to worry about. Sure, his colleagues may be a bit forward at times, and they might bring up things he wished they wouldn’t, but this was Emma. Emma, who made him feel accepted and welcome and confident, even with all her sarcasm. Afterall, she had listened to him talk in that bar for who knows how long, and that was only the first time they’d ever socialised in any non-apocalyptic capacity. Whenever he had felt like he had been dominating the conversation too much, she had asked him questions, encouraging him to continue.

____

It was oddly reassuring. Odd, purely because he wasn’t used to someone acting like they were genuinely interested in what he had to say. Then again, this wasn’t just anyone; this was Emma Perkins. A woman quite unlike anyone he’d ever met, including himself. Someone who had seen the world. Street-smart and quick witted, and yet underneath her tough exterior was a sense of insecurity he only knew too well.

____

For all their differences, there was an undeniable link between them, a sense of recognition that for the most part, went unspoken.

____

In truth, Paul knew they didn’t have to acknowledge it. He only had to get used to it, to the unfamiliar sensation of feeling understood, and the comfort that came with it.

____

“Thank you,” Paul said, closing his his eyes as he spoke, needing her to understand just how much her praise meant to him. When he opened them again, she was a little closer than she had been before. Emma took a sip of her drink without breaking eye-contact, before frowning and looking down at her cup.

____

“Holy shit, your friend wasn’t kidding! Who made this?” she giggled, evidently impressed by the strength of the punch. Intrigued, Paul tried some from his own cup, and nearly had to spit it back out. It was sweet, impossibly so, but not enough to mask whichever spirit had been chucked in there.

____

“I’m pretty sure Melissa does the drinks. She’s on the young side, so I guess it makes sense she’d go a little crazy after being given free rein on alcohol.”

____

Emma took another swig, much deeper than the first. “Fuck, she’s got some _taste._ Melissa’s the receptionist, right?”

____

“One of ‘em, yeah.”

____

“Huh. Y’know, she always struck me as kinda shy.”

____

“Oh, she is at first, but I think it’s just a matter of being comfortable with the people she’s talking to. Plus, from what I’ve heard she was kind of into the whole nightlife scene at college, so I guess it makes sense that she’d know how to concoct something strong enough to _blind people.”_

____

Emma scoffed. “What are you talking about, this stuff’s great!”

____

“Why, thank you,” said an unknown voice. Paul looked to his right, and almost jumped out of his skin at the sight of Melissa, appearing out of nowhere in her custom fashion. “Sorry, I heard my name,” Melissa explained, giving each of them an apologetic grin before her eyes widened on Emma. “Oh my God!” She pointed at their costumes.

____

They were both dressed as cavewomen.

____

Emma laughed, slapping Paul’s arm. “See! Clearly I’m not the only person who thinks they’re scary.”

____

Melissa gave him a scandalised look. “You don’t think they’re scary? They literally _invented fire, and _they wiped out the Neanderthals.”__

______ _ _

“Finally,” said Emma, throwing up her hands, “Someone who makes sense.”

______ _ _

“Okay, okay, first off, they didn’t exactly _invent_ fire-“

______ _ _

“Oh shut up, we don’t care,” Melissa retorted, taking a sip from her cup of what must have been punch; he’d never actually seen her tipsy, but given that she was acting a little bolder than she usually did, Paul guessed she was headed that way.

______ _ _

“Yeah, Paul, we outnumber you,” Emma added, shifting to stand beside Melissa, who help out her cup to her. They bumped their drinks, faces smug. Paul sighed, taking a reluctant second sip of the death-juice; he would need to be a lot drunker to put up with two of them. Trying not to splutter, he held up his hands in mock terror.

______ _ _

“Wow, I’m… terrified?”

______ _ _

“You fuckin’ better be,” Emma warned. “We have spears.”

______ _ _

“You don’t have spears.”

______ _ _

“We can make spears.”

______ _ _

“Okay, you can make spears.”

______ _ _

Emma chuckled, shaking her head at their ridiculousness, even though she was the one who started it. Just as Paul was trying to think of ways to continue the conversation, he looked at Melissa, and saw that she was downing the rest of her drink. They stared at her, equal parts impressed and alarmed, as she tipped her head back. It appeared that party-Melissa was strikingly different to the meek yet bubbly woman he had grown accustomed to, and Paul slightly regretted all those years that the office was only allowed a limited amount of alcohol; it felt like the first time he’d ever seen her truly unwinding, which was weird considering how long they’d worked together.

______ _ _

The joys of corporate functions; even when they make an attempt at bringing people together, the atmosphere it still so forced that no one there is actually themselves.

______ _ _

At long last, Melissa finished chugging, and held her cup above her head to demonstrate.

______ _ _

____“You alright?” Emma laughed incredulously._ _ _ _

______ _ _

“Hell yeah,” Melissa gasped. “Ugh, you know when you just- like, it’s been so long, and after everything, it’s like, _fuck it,_ you know?” Something flashed across Emma’s eyes, only for a fraction of a second. Paul put his hand on her arm, letting her know he was there, and she looked up at him. She gave him a hesitant smile, one he returned sympathetically.

______ _ _

“Yeah… yeah, I know,” she answered, still looking at Paul. He broke their eye contact first so that she wouldn’t have to.

______ _ _

“Right, I’m getting a refill, you guys want in?” Melissa asked, pointing at them.

______ _ _

“Oh, no, I think we’re good,” said Emma, holding up her half-filled cup. Melissa looked at Paul, and he shook his head.

______ _ _

“Alrighty, suit yourselves.” She tottered past them, heading for the table.

______ _ _

“Hey, take it easy Melissa,” Paul called out after her.

______ _ _

“Pfft, whatever you say _dad,_ ” she groaned back at him without stopping. He chuckled, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to listen to him, and would doubtless be coming in to work the next day with the hangover of the century.

______ _ _

Turning back to face Emma, he saw that her eyes were fixed on his face. He was about to ask her if she was doing okay, when-

______ _ _

“You good?” Emma asked. Paul must have looked confused, because she carried on talking. “Sorry, you just… you seem a little quiet.”

______ _ _

“Oh, right. Yeah, I’m good… I’m always quiet at parties anyway, but I guess I’m just thinking a lot right now, that’s all.” Perhaps his reflections were more noticeable than he realised.

______ _ _

“Oh, okay… thinking about anything in particular?”

______ _ _

If he answered _‘You’_ , Paul thought it might be a bit much. Instead, he shook his head. There was no sense in making the mood unnecessarily serious. “What about you? Are you… having fun? I mean, I know we _just_ got here, but let me know if you get-“

______ _ _

“Jeez, Paul, relax!” Emma interrupted, eyes wide, but still grinning. She dialled back her incredulity after a second, and spoke to him in a softer tone. “I’m good, I promise. But really, you don’t have to worry about whether or not I’m enjoying myself; if I’m not, you better fuckin’ believe I’ll tell you. Seriously, I’m not about to spare anyone’s feelings, including you.” She punctuated this by shoving his arm, finally provoking him to chuckle. She smiled wider; evidently this was the reaction she had been hoping for. “But even if I wasn’t, it’s not like the world’s gonna end if-“

______ _ _

Their eyes caught.

______ _ _

Emma looked indecisive for a moment, until she gave a resolved nod. “The world isn’t going to end,” she finished. He expected to feel the punch of dread in the pit his stomach, but instead a wave relief washed over him, giving him the mild sensation of floating. “Whether or not I have fun at a party is nothing compared to all that shit, and I don’t know about you, but I’m so fuckin’ grateful to be able to do any of this at all.”

______ _ _

By the end, her voice had grown quiet. He had no trouble in hearing her over the music, though, as he suddenly realised how close together they had moved.

______ _ _

“Me too,” he whispered back, more to himself than out loud.

______ _ _

Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the music. Maybe it was the proximity, the fact that they were standing close enough together for Paul to have to look almost straight down to keep their faces angled towards each other. Whatever it was, it sent a peculiar buzz over his skin, one that rooted itself in his chest and radiated to the tips of his fingers. He was trapped in her eyes, and each passing second that he spent gazing into them only made the current grow stronger.

______ _ _

Emma took his free hand in hers. It tipped him over the edge of a cliff he didn’t know he was standing on.

______ _ _

He kissed her with his eyes open, only allowing himself to close them when he watched her eyelids flutter shut and felt her kissing him back. He went to open them again when he felt her hand slide back out of his, but then the collar of his shirt was pulled tight around the back of his neck, and he realised she had moved it to grip the front of his shirt and pull him in even closer than he already was. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and kept his cup-holding hand suspended awkwardly to the side. He couldn’t care less; he was lost, and there was nothing about that moment he could possibly bring himself to change.

______ _ _

Except…

______ _ _

“We get it, you guys are gonna bone, so get a _room_ already!” They broke apart, desperately trying to both regain composure and avoid making eye-contact with the smug Ted that had appeared beside them. “Speaking of,” he continued, “Ya might wanna stay away from Mr. Davidson’s office, I’m pretty sure he and his wife went in there a couple of minutes ago, but if you’re still wanting a place to boink, _my_ office is completely free – I’ll even guard the door for you,” he finished with a proud smile, evidently pleased with how uncomfortable he had made them both.

______ _ _

“You know, I don’t like you without Charlotte,” said Emma, tilting her head to the side as she looked up at him. “Where is she, anyway?”

______ _ _

“Oh, she’s over flirting with the guy who fixed the copier,” he replied with a shrug.

______ _ _

____“But I thought…” Emma looked back up at Paul, and he returned her confused expression._ _ _ _

______ _ _

“Yeah, aren’t you two…” Paul trailed off, unsure of how to phrase the rest of his sentence.

______ _ _

Ted huffed, as if it was obvious. “ _God_ you two are vanilla, _yes_ we’re living together, and _yes_ we hook up, and yes I’m helping her through her divorce, but it’s not like we’re magnanimous.”

______ _ _

Paul frowned. “You mean ‘monogamous’?”

______ _ _

“Ugh, Paul, you know I flunked biology, I ain’t interested in any of that science shit.”

______ _ _

“No-“ 

______ _ _

*****

______ _ _

Alice hit send, then tucked her phone back into her purse and joined Deb at the centre of the dance floor. The rhythm brought the air to life, filling the crowded house with an infectious energy that rippled through the gathering and united them. They all knew what was coming, what they felt rising in every chest and throat that was packed into the party. They could feel the excitement as it built, an ecstasy of anticipation.

______ _ _

Ryan, the guy whose parents had let him throw the party, stood on the table to address the crowd.

______ _ _

_“Dad says act our age – you heard the man, it’s time to rage!”_

______ _ _

The swarm of dancers chanted back words that came to them with all the welcome familiarity of a treasured memory.

______ _ _

_“Blast the bass, turn out the light, ain’t nobody home tonight!”_

______ _ _

Seeming to feed off the crowd’s energy, Ryan replied, _“Drink, smoke, it’s all cool! Let’s get naked in my pool!”_

______ _ _

Barely able to contain her shocked laugh, Alice swayed to the beat and let her voice merge with a hundred others as they sang, _“Punch the wall and start a fight, ain’t nobody home tonight!”_

______ _ _

Ryan reached down into the crowd, grabbing his boyfriend Kit’s hand and pulling him up onto the table beside him. He smiled at Ryan, before turning away to deliver his line. _“No time to rest you head, let’s do jello shots instead,”_

______ _ _

_“Let’s rub each other’s backs while watching porn on Cinemax!”_ Ryan finished, causing Kit to give him an annoyed yet playful shove.

______ _ _

Alice looked to Deb, who didn’t seem affected by Ryan’s words. She shook it off and joined the chorus of peculiar strangers. _“The folks are gone, it's time for big fun, big fun! We're up till dawn, having some big fun, big fun! When mom and dad forget to lock the liquor cabinet – it’s big fun! Big fun! Big fun!”_

______ _ _

A raucous cheer erupted throughout the gathering, and dancing teens turned to one another to revel in their youth. The cheering, the lights, the movement, all melding together like a symphony.

______ _ _

A hand found Alice’s. She turned to see Deb, standing closer than she had been before. She wasn’t exactly smiling, but there was bliss in her eyes.

______ _ _

Alice kissed her, and the party and the noise and the chaos all faded away.

______ _ _

*****

______ _ _

“So are you gonna tell me what happened today, Banana?”

______ _ _

Hannah fiddled with the eyeholes cut they had cut into an old stained bedsheet.

______ _ _

The trees had been quiet when they came home. They knew what was coming.

______ _ _

“Hannah?”

______ _ _

She hadn’t noticed Lex kneeling down beside her, until her sister placed a cautious hand on her knee. There was so much to tell her, but all of the words that span around her mind seemed to fall into that gapping void in her head, making sentences hard work.

______ _ _

Still, she would try as best she could. Her voice came out as a whisper as she strained to find the right words. “Bad place. Warning. Holiday.”

______ _ _

That was about all she could make sense of.

______ _ _

Lex’s brow creased with confusion; evidently, it wasn’t enough. “Come on, I’ll help you with your costume.” Reluctantly, Hannah slipped down off the bed and handed Lex the sheet, allowing her to pull it over her head and adjust the creases until her eyes lined up with the two rough ovals in the front. When she was finished, Lex stayed kneeling, looking back into Hannah’s eyes (now the only visible part of her) with a growing concern.

______ _ _

Hannah flapped her arms out. “Boo!”

______ _ _

It worked; Lex’s serious face cracked, and she let out a loud snort. “Come on,” she chuckled, pushing herself off the ground. “We better get going before all the good candy’s gone. I was thinking, if you wanted, you could use my backpack – the one with the pins on it?”

______ _ _

_Oooh._ “Yes, please.” Hannah had always liked that bag.

______ _ _

Lex took a moment to check her makeup in the mirror. Her costume wasn’t far off her usual clothing, but Hannah had watched her with fascination a few minutes earlier as she had extended her eyeliner and drawn intricate webs hanging off of them, one on each side. It reminded her of webby.

______ _ _

Maybe that meant it would protect her.

______ _ _

“Lexi?” Hannah wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Once she made eye-contact with her sister, she folded. “You look pretty.”

______ _ _

Lex smiled warmly, turning to face her and pulling her into her chest. Hannah tucked her head right beneath her chin, savouring her warmth.

______ _ _

“C’mon, banana,” Lex muttered after a few moments. “Ethan’s waiting outside.”

______ _ _

Hannah stepped back, nodding.

______ _ _

They could go; webby said it was safe.

______ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things - Melissa is specifically dressed as Keeri, if you havent already guessed; I've wanted an excuse to use that song for a while, and i changed 1 line to make it so 'Ryan' was the only perv; the next chapter will probably still be the party.
> 
> So... sorry it's been so long. What with exams and being sent home and going back and being sent home again, and I'm currently halfway through mocks... things are hectic, and I've basically been constantly stressed and tired since october, and since writing takes so much out of me, i kinda only felt able to write the other fic because the ideas for it were fresh. This time, i put my foot down and told myself i wouldn't write another chapter for it before id done another for this one, but this took what, a couple of weeks? So the other fic's also gonna see a delay, and uploads for this one will stay slow. Im tired.  
> However, I just want to say a massive thankyou to everyone who has been reading this, and i hope youre all staying safe wherever you are in the word, and i hope you enjoyed this long overdue chapter :)


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